


The Race for Immortality

by nani_punani



Series: Dark Ascension [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Harry, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Dark Harry, Dark!Hogwarts, Dean Thomas is the king of Gryffindor, F/M, Harry has a secret identity, Harry has another name, Harry is a Black, Jealous Harry, M/M, Omega Draco Malfoy, Possessive Harry, Pretty Draco Malfoy, Pureblood Harry, Rivals, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Ron Weasley, Slytherin Seeker Harry, Sorcerers stone, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2020-09-14 17:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 53,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nani_punani/pseuds/nani_punani
Summary: Someone's hiding something. And Aries Black and Draco Malfoy both seem to think it's the sorcerer's stone. And both of them will be damned before they let the other one get to it first.





	1. The Golden Trio

**Author's Note:**

> im back bitches. did u miss me :)))

Chapter 1: The <strike>Golden</strike> Trio

The moment Harry entered platform nine and three quarters everyone’s eyes were on him. Harry had expected it, considering, but growing up with the Dursleys who treated him like he was invisible made him unused to the attention. Besides his coming out party, there had never been so many eyes focused on him.

Either way, Harry ignored the eyes, and tried to ignore the voices that seemed to follow him as he walked to the Hogwarts express. His falcon Vito, on the other hand, seemed to tense in his cage.

Uncle Marius had bought Vito from the Magical Menagerie, after being given explicit directions from Harry himself. After Marius had mentioned to Harry that many students had animal companions, Harry had known immediately what his should be. He remembered reading in a book at school that falcons were one of the fiercest birds of prey with a much sharper beak than hawks, even managing to cut through the spinal cords of their victims. He’d left his uncle with the simple of instructions of getting “the fiercest falcon there was.” His uncle, surprisingly, hadn’t disappointed.

The full name of Harry’s falcon was Vito Corleone, after Don Corleone from the Godfather. It was a favorite of Vernon Dursley, and he played it so much it eventually became a favorite of Harry’s too, grudgingly. The ending especially filled Harry with a vicious sort of pleasure, the way Don Corleone’s son managed to give everyone just exactly what they deserved. He’d been filled with reverence for the movie ever since. Harry thought it only fitting the most dangerous animal from the menagerie be given the name of the most dangerous gangster in movie history.

According to the owner of the menagerie, however, Vito was still pretty young and had a long ways to go before he was cutting through spinal cords. Harry wasn’t really disappointed with that either, though: even Don Corleone had to start somewhere.

Still, no matter how much he and Vito tried to ignore the whispers, Harry wasn’t deaf, and he could hear most of them quite clearly.

“Is that Black’s son?”

“_Mad _Black’s son?”

“The one who gave up the Potters?”

“The one who killed thirteen people with a single curse?”

“Wait…who was his mother then?”

“Regina Malfoy.”

“_Squib_ Malfoy? Die hard death eater Sirius Black married a _squib?”_

“Marry?” A scoff here. “More like _raped_\- “

Harry was inside the Hogwarts express before whoever it was could finish their sentence, trying to calm the sickness that was growing in his stomach, trying to crawl up through his throat.

_This is the man I’m supposed to call my father_. Harry thought to himself. _Supposed to be proud of. A person everyone thinks is a rapist. A madman. Someone who killed my true family._

It was disgusting.

Vito chirped in his cage and Harry slowly cleared his thoughts, hoping to find an empty carriage where he could stew in his bad mood alone. Where he wouldn’t have any chance of snapping at anyone or even worse picking at fight. He was on thin ice after his birthday party, after attacking Theodore Nott, and Harry didn’t think his mind could take any more nagging and disappointment from his aunt and uncle.

When he finally found one, he heaved a great sigh of relief, until Vito started chirping again.

Harry rolled his eyes. “What now, Vito?”

Vito started biting at his cage, until Harry finally got the message that Vito wanted to go out for some flying time. The owner of the Menagerie had said that it was totally fine to release Vito, as he knew who his master was, and that Harry didn’t need to worry about Vito flying away and never coming back. Magical Menagerie falcons were trained to submit to a certain smell, though it was up to them if they choose to submit to it. Luckily for Harry, Vito had chosen to submit to Harry’s scent, and was now bound to him for the rest of his days.

Harry let Vito walk onto his hand, before opening the window to the carriage and letting him fly away. He stuck his head out the window for a minute, wishing he could fly away as well, and it was at that precise moment that the door to his carriage opened.

Harry turned his head only to catch sight of a boy his age with flaming red hair and millions of freckles on his face.

“Oh,” the boy said, quite obviously startled, “I’m sorry. All the other carriages were full. D’you mind if I take a seat?”

Inwardly, Harry sighed. Outwardly, however, he gave a polite smile. “No worries. I don’t mind.”

The boy gave a relieved smile in return. “Brill, thanks mate.” He made to sit down across from Harry and held out a freckled hand. “Name’s Ron Weasley.”

Harry reached out a hand in return. “Aries Black.”

Immediately, the boy’s face went as pale as a sheet, his freckles now very prominent on his face.

“Aries B-Black?” He stuttered out. “As in, the son of _Sirius Black?”_

The smile disappeared from Harry’s face. His expression went cold.

“Yeah, why? Got a problem with that?”

Ron Weasley colored, obviously not liking Harry’s tone. “And if I did?” He spat out.

Harry smiled coolly. “Then that means I have a problem with you.”

The two of them were locked in a stare down, the air thick with tension, when the door to Harry’s carriage opened again.

He had to stifle the urge to growl. _What now?_

Ron and Harry both turned to see a round faced boy enter their carriage. It looked like he’d been crying.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad by any chance?”

Harry rolled his eyes. _What a baby_. “No, sorry.”

The round-faced boy turned to look at Ron, who shook his face as well. “Me neither, mate.”

The round-faced boy looked as if he was going to cry again, but thankfully closed the door before he could do so.

Ron turned to face Harry again, and was obviously going to say something, but he let out a yelp instead.

Weasley pulled something out of his pocket, a pitiful looking rat. “Scabbers, you dung faced idiot, you bit me!”

Harry couldn’t help but let out a snigger. “_That’s_ your pet? A rat of all things, and such a pathetic looking one at that?”

Weasley glared at him. “Scabbers has a heart of gold, mind you.” Scabbers then proceeded to bite Weasley again, Weasley letting out another yelp. Harry sniggered as Ron cradled his finger.

“Well, he might not have a heart of gold,” Ron bit out poisonously, “but I can turn him gold.”

“Oh really?” Harry drawled, not believing a single word the red-haired boy said.

“Yes, _really_.” The boy replied mockingly in turn, digging through his rupsack. “Let me just find my wand- “

Ron Weasley’s wand was a sad looking thing, chipped in some places, and looking like the slightest wind could tear it apart. Harry couldn’t help himself; he didn’t snigger this time, he full on laughed.

“What in Merlin’s name—you call that a _wand_?”

Weasley’s ears turned pink, and he was obviously working himself into quite a snit, but before he could unleash its full force on Harry (who was wheezing at this point, so string was his laughter), yet another person entered their carriage.

“Excuse me,” the girl interrupted in a snooty tone, bushy brown hair flying everywhere, “but have you seen Neville’s toad?”

Harry didn’t bother answering, he was still laughing from the pathetic sight of Weasley’s wand and couldn’t manage a response even if he tried. Ron on the other hand seemed too upset to answer. In the end though, it didn’t matter: the bushy haired girl seemed to latch on to Ron’s wand as well.

“Oh are you doing magic?” She asked. “Let’s see it then.”

Ron seemed taken aback at her command (Harry was too), yet strangely still obeyed, probably mostly to spite Harry.

He cleared his throat quite importantly, and Harry barely kept from rolling his eyes.

_“Galleons, trinkets, broomsticks sold,_

_“Turn this stupid, fat rat gold.”_

Ron pointed his wand but nothing happened. Harry let out a snort.

The girl on the other hand responded seriously. “Are you sure that’s a real spell?” She asked, somewhat condescendingly if you asked Harry, and by the looks of it if you asked Ron as well. “Or, at least, are you sure that rat’s alive? He looks quite dead if you ask me.”

Ron looked at her, completely stunned. “You think I keep a dead rat for a pet?” He asked angrily. “Who do you think I am? Some kind of loon?”

The girl sighed quite exasperatedly, as if Ron was a child that needed explaining. Harry quite agreed with her. “I don’t think _anything _about you. I just think that maybe you should get your rat checked out, you know, for its health.” She paused then as if something had completely crossed her mind. “_Cricket!_ I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Hermione Granger.”

Ron watched her sulkily. “Name’s Ron Weasley.” He then pointed to Harry. “That over there’s Aries Black.”

Granger’s eyes quickly focused to Harry’s. “Are you really?” She asked suspiciously. “You know, I read all about you - or rather - your _father _in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century - light background reading of course. It never mentioned that Sirius Black had a wife, or even a child.”

Harry ignored her question, gave a little hmm. “My father’s in a book?”

Granger still regarded him suspiciously. “You didn’t know? I’d have found out everything I could about my father if I was you. A terrible man, if you don’t mind me saying so,” she said with the air of a person who really didn’t care if he minded her saying so. “Strange, really, that he was in Gryffindor. I’ve been asking around and it sound by far the best. I hear Dumbledore himself was in it. Do either of you know what house you’ll be in?”

Harry answered easily. “Slytherin of course.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed at his response. “There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was in Slytherin.” Ron paused after this, obviously choosing his next words carefully. “Though, I shouldn’t be too surprised, considering who your father is.”

Harry knew this was a ploy to upset him, but he was rather confused by some of what Ron said.

“You-Know-Who?” He asked.

Ron stared at him as if he were playing crazy, then snorted as if he just realized something. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said acidly, “you may refer to him as the Dark Lord.”

Harry’s eyes hardened. “The Dark Lord? You mean Voldemort?” Ron flinched back at his words. “He’s no lord of mine.”

Ron blinked, obviously surprised at Harry’s vehement response. He looked away uneasily from Harry and prattled on as if nothing had unsettled him.

“Either way,” Ron said quite superiorly, “everyone knows Gryffindor is the best house,” Harry snorted at that, “and I’m bound to be in it. I mean, all of my brothers have been sorted there. _Imagine_ how it would look if I wasn’t…” He trailed off awkwardly, obviously now unsettled by the thought.

Granger, not noticing Ron’s discomfort, continued on obliviously. “Oh yes, it would be quite horribly embarrassing if you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor. I mean, if I were your mother, I’d probably cry and cast you out in shame.” She added, not noticing how pale Ron how turned. “…Anyway, I’d better go look for Neville’s toad some more. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon.”

The girl – Hermione - turned in a flurry of bushy hair, leaving Harry and Ron alone once again.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron, and Harry couldn’t help but snort in agreement. They had settled into a fragile sort of silence when a pecking came from the carriage window.

“What in the bloody hell is that?” Asked Ron in horror.

And Harry could only grin in response, the first true smile in a while. “That, Mr. Weasel, is a real pet.”

Ron was obviously so gone in his fear that he didn’t even register Harry’s insult. “That’s a pet?” He asked faintly.

Harry opened the window and in flew Vito, landing on Harry’s shoulder. There was something sticking out of his mouth.

“Oh. I guess that solves the mystery of where Neville’s toad went.”

Ron looked like he was going to throw up. “That thing - it ate Neville’s _toad?”_

Harry smiled with all his teeth. “That’s not the only thing Vito eats.” He added mysteriously, and right as he said it, Vito’s eyes focused on Scabbers who was sleeping on Ron’s lap.

Ron, noticing Vito’s attention, quickly scooped Scabbers into his pocket.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh again - that is - until the door opened and Shafiq and Malfoy strolled in as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

Aamir gave him that cool and disinterested smile that Harry could never quite perfect. “”lo, Black.”

But Harry didn’t care about Aamir. His attention was focused solely on Draco who hovered behind Aamir like a coward, eyes flicking every which way except at Harry.

Harry felt himself burn at the way Draco ignored him, recalled the events of his birthday as if they’d occurred just yesterday, his explicit warning.

Apparently Draco had been too stupid to listen to him.

“Malfoy.” He growled.

_Guess it’s time for you to pay now._


	2. Ignis Formica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont know why the formatting got fucked up at the end but i was too lazy to fix it :)))

Draco spent the rest of his summer dreading the day school would begin.

_It’s not fair._ He thought to himself wretchedly. _Hogwarts has been something I’ve been looking forward to my entire life and Harry completely and utterly ruined it with just one sentence. **It’s. Not. Fair!**_

He’d also been quite fearful about running into Harry at Diagon Alley but turns out that was the one thing he hadn’t had to worry about, not after the article Rita Skeeter had typed out. Even though he hated Harry, he couldn’t help the feeling of dread that had pooled in his stomach when he’d read it.

_This is not good. This is not good at all._ Draco recalled Harry’s birthday party, where he almost killed Nott, torn the squibs library apart, and broken blood metal into a tiny million pieces, and all because of something that blabbermouth Nott had said. Just a couple of stupid words, not even the worst a pureblood was capable of. Draco should know, he was a pureblood himself, and had been on both ends of pureblood insults, both giving and receiving. If Harry had acted like he did then, he’d be committed to a loony bin before the first day of school was over.

Draco couldn’t even understand how Rita had gotten such a good picture, and asked his parents about it afterwards.

Lucius Malfoy had looked at him as if he was daft. “I sent it in, of course. How else would you ever get your fortune back?”

Draco had stared at him, almost speechless. “What?”

Lucius sighed greatly, as if his son was some sort of imbecile, and it pained him greatly. “This will make sure he’s under a lot of—_pressure_—at Hogwarts, and if we’re lucky, go rabid like he did at his coming out party.”

Draco noticed the pause his father took before he said pressure, and knew it was only a polite substitute for the real word Lucius had been searching for, which was torture.

Lucius continued on untroubled, as if this was paperwork he was talking about, and not a real human being. “The purebloods already don’t like him. Caelian Nott is already upset with the Blacks for the treatment of his son. Aries little tantrum in the squibs library doesn’t exactly assure them of his sanity. They’re afraid that the youngest Black is as mad as his father, which isn’t exactly great in the current political climate. Another stunt like that and he’ll be committed to St. Mungo’s for sure.” Lucius smiled. “And then lordship will go to you by default, as it always should’ve been.”

Draco remembers Harry in his arms, thin frame wracked by shivering and sobs in the closet, and pictures him in a larger closet, this one surrounded by white walls in St. Mungo. He feels sick. “Oh,” is all he manages to reply.

Lucius’ smile burns away. He sneers at Draco, disgusted. “All of this, all that I have done for you, and all you can manage is a pathetic _‘oh?_’”

Draco can only stare wordlessly back at his father, unsure of what he wants to hear.

Lucius scoffs. “You ungrateful, spoiled, _pathetic_ child.” He spits. “If it weren’t for the things I do, you wouldn’t have anything at all.”

Lucius had stalked away after that, Draco mostly unbothered by his words as he was already so used to hearing them. He had been left instead with a strange feeling in his gut, something like guilt, but Draco had quickly shaken it off.

_Why should I feel bad for him, after all that he’s done to me?_ Draco had asked himself.

It was at that time that he met up with Aamir, who proposed something he’d been fully on board with at the time, but now was starting to have second thoughts about.

They had been lazing around Draco’s room in the manor, talking excitedly about how interesting and new Hogwarts would be, when Aamir had looked at him carefully.

“You know,” he had drawled, spinning his wand, “the offer still stands.”

Draco had only blinked at him, confused as to what he was referring to.

“What offer?”

Aamir smiled, the smile he reserved when he was about to get into trouble. “To get back at that Black dog. Make him pay for what he did to us.”

And all of sudden Draco remembered. What Aamir had promised all those years ago in a letter. What he had tried to bring up at Harry’s coming out party. And Aamir’s words, _‘make him pay_,’ made him think of another payment, one Harry thought he could enforce on Draco. He grit his teeth. Felt himself burn in humiliation the way Harry had tried to make him put that necklace on him, tried to claim him in the worst way, in front of everyone.

Draco’s eyes glittered meanly in the light of his room. He gave a thin smile in response.

“Why, I think that’s a _wonderful_ idea, Aamir.”

But that was then. Now, in the light of the real world, the Hogwarts express in front of them, Draco could feel himself dragging his feet.

“Aamir,” he’d whined. “Pansy really wanted Seer Eyes. We can’t leave without buying her Seer Eyes or she’s going to work herself into a snit and you _know_ how terrible it is when Pansy works herself into a snit. She’s unbearable.”

Aamir had looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Draco,” he started reasonably, “you know there’s a cart on the train, right? That sells plenty of Seers Eyes?”

Draco had hastily looked away from him. “I mean, I didn’t _know_ but-“

“Because I’m beginning to feel like you don’t want to do this.” Aamir looked at him full on this time, a somewhat cold expression on his face.

Draco could feel himself start to babble, unable to make eye contact with Aamir. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t _want_ to, it’s just that, do I _need_ to-?”

Aamir had reached up to cup his face. “Hey, hey.” He said gently. “If you don’t want to do anything, that’s fine, I’ll do it.” Aamir tucked away a fly away hair, eyes still searching Draco’s face. “It’s okay, you know?”

Draco felt his eyes start to get misty, so he’d shoved Aamir off.

“You know I _hate_ it when you treat me like a baby, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” He’d replied pleasantly, as if Draco hadn’t been about to cry right in front of him. “Sorry.”

After that they had hopped into the Hogwarts express, leaving their stuff with Pansy before setting off to find Harry. Draco had snapped at anyone who’d gotten in their way.

One such boy was a kid named Neville. He’d been crying about his toad. Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Have you seen him?” The round faced boy asked, eyes red.

Aamir had given a polite no, but Draco smiled cruelly.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” He drawled. Aamir gave him a questioning gaze, wondering where he was going with this, but Draco ignored him.

The boy, Neville, smiled nervously in relief. “You did? Oh, that’s wonderful-“

“I saw him on the bottom of my shoe-“ Draco rudely interrupted, taking pleasure at the way Neville paled at his words, “after I had stepped on him a couple, two? Three? _Ten _times.”

Neville had started blubbering again, and Draco and the rest of their cabin couldn’t help but laugh, both at Draco’s joke and Neville’s reaction. Aamir was the only one who didn’t laugh, staring at Draco oddly.

“What?” Draco had snapped when they were alone in the corridor.

Aamir had shrugged. “Nuthin.’”

“No,” Draco had replied, quite irritated, “it isn’t nothing, or else you wouldn’t have looked at me that way.”

Aamir gave out a long sigh, like he knew this was something Draco didn’t want to hear. He was right. “It’s just, that was pretty mean.”

Draco couldn’t help it—he laughed. “That—_that’s_ mean? And hitting Black with a Dark curse isn’t?”

Aamir shrugged again, and Draco hated how he acted so passive, because it was so fake.

“Black deserves it. Neville didn’t. And anyway,” Aamir’s eyes slid to Draco’s, “I thought you weren’t going to hit him with a dark curse?”

“Oh fuck you, Aamir.” Draco had spit out. Always baiting him like this, it drove Draco crazy sometimes. “You always treat me like I’m some sort of baby. I never said I wouldn’t do the curse.”

Aamir opened his mouth again, probably to ask ‘are you sure?,’ but wisely thought better of it. They continued in relative silence until they found the cabin they were looking for. Draco’s tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth as they opened the door.

Harry and some red headed kid looked back at them. A Weasley, probably, by the poor lack of dress and flaming hair.

Aamir greeted him, but Harry only had eyes for Draco.

“Malfoy.” He growled.

“Black.” Draco bit back.

“Are you going to stop hiding behind your boyfriend?” Harry asked innocently.

Draco felt himself blush and unconsciously moved away from Aamir.

“I’m not _hiding_.” He snapped, at the same time Aamir threw a Levicorpus at Ron Weasley.

Ron shrieked and Harry’s eyes slid over to his, then back to Draco’s.

“I assume you didn’t come to talk, then?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond but Aamir beat him to it. He had his nicest – and fakest – smile on.

“Guess being half-blood doesn’t mean you have a half a brain. Good. Of course, you know exactly why we’re here, Black.”

Harry didn’t seem at all intimidated and simply sat back on his seat. It was then that Draco realized he had a – a _falcon_ with him of all things!

“What in Merlin’s name-!”

Harry smiled at him. “You like it? His name’s Vito.” Harry rubbed the underside of Vito’s wings. “I got him from the Magical Menagerie.”

From where Draco could see, Aamir’s eyes narrowed. A animal familiar complicated things.

From where he floated in the air, Ronald Weasley groaned. “Please let me down,” he whined, before Aamir consequently hit him with a silencio charm.

Harry’s eyes flickered to Aamir’s wand. “You’re quite talented with that thing. I hardly know a single spell yet.”

Aamir smiled casually. “That’s because there’s a difference between the two of us. I’m a pureblood, and you’re half sullied trash.”

“Yes,” Harry drawled, completely unaffected, “I suppose you’re right. There is a difference between the two of us.” He grinned suddenly. “I’m an heir and you’re not.”

Aamir’s smile turned a little forced, and his grip on his wand turned a little tighter, but other than that, and unless you knew where to look, there was no sign that Aamir had been affected by Harry’s words.

“You think you’re _sooo_ clever.” Aamir chuckled, but his eyes were a burning amber. “You have this look on your face like you’re above us all. But the things you said that night, the things you _did_ – that’s not shit you can just get away with. That’s not how you play our game.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asked lazily, but his eyes gave him away: they were as sharp as cut glass. “And how do I play _your_ game?”

Aamir smiled. And honestly, for Harry, that should’ve been warning enough, but nobody knew Aamir like Draco did. They didn’t know that smile meant game over.

_“Immobilis Corpus!”_ He shouted, Harry a second too late in drawing his wand. Aamir had obviously been expecting it.

Harry was now frozen, could only blink angrily at them with blue eyes that were quickly turning to storm clouds.

“You know, I would really like to be the one to make you suffer for utter shite you pulled on your birthday, but I suppose Draco has more claim to you than I do.” Aamir smiled pleasantly. “And I’m nothing if not gracious.”

Draco, on the other hand, seemed to be frozen as well. He was staring at Harry, and his burning eyes, but really he was staring at the other Harry, the _real _Harry, remembering green eyes like a killing curse.

_‘You know why my eyes are green, Draco? Because I absorbed the Avada Kedavra.’_

_‘It’s unfortunate then, that I can kill with a single look.’_

And Draco can feel something like a tremble start in his hands, feels his breathing quicken, thinks to himself, _I can’t do this, I cant do this, he’ll kill me if I do this, he’ll break his bones apart like he did that time in the closet just to kill me with his real eyes-_

But then Aamir is shaking him, has a hand on his cheek, wakes him up from the burning fear that almost consumed him whole.

It’s his eyes, really, that snap Draco out of it. Not a terrible green but a burning amber. A red gold. A star on fire. Those are the colors that paint Aamir’s eyes.

Aamir’s tone is soft when he speaks, softer than the burning colors of his eyes. “You don’t-“

But Draco already knows what Aamir’s going to say. Won’t let him say it.

_You don’t have to do this._

But he does. And that fear that threatened to consume him whole, burn him alive like wildfire, it’s replaced by anger. _This is all I ever wanted that summer_, he thinks to himself. _To be older, to be smarter, stronger. To have a wand so I could curse him in all the ways he cursed me with his very eyes. So I could curse him the way he cursed me without ever even speaking a word._ Draco, all of a sudden remembers the party, and feels another rush of anger.

“You really thought you could make me pay?” Draco asks Harry incredulously, his laugh as cold as an artic wind. “Maybe in your world, surrounded by squibs and house elves, sure. But in Hogwarts? In our _society?_” Draco raises an eyebrow, scoffs. “You’re nothing there. You’ll never make it out alive.”

Draco raises his wand, feels something like vindication crawl itself into his heart.

_This is right and just. This is truly right and just._

But even as he says the words, a small part of Draco doesn’t think it’s right at all.

_“Ignis Formica!”_ He shouts.

At first nothing happens. There is a moment of silence as they all watch each other until suddenly Harry starts twitch, eyes tearing up, color changing from a healthy tan to a pale shade of purple.

Draco looks on in morbid confusion. He turns to Aamir, a dozen questions in his eyes.

“What-“

And then ants start to come out Harry’s nose.

“-_the hell is that?_”

Aamir opens his mouth, dumbfounded, unable to reply before Draco finally gets it.

“_The immobilis corpus!_ Aamir, you have to undo it! He’s frozen so he’s choking on those ants!”

But Aamir is unresponsive, watching stupidly as Harry becomes a deeper purple of Phoenician silk.

Draco shakes Aamir, desperate and angry, his eyes the silver of mad lightning.

“Aamir the _counter spell!_ He’s fucking choking on those ants and if you don’t unfreeze him he’s going to suffocate and _die_!”

But Aamir is now the frozen one, impassive, and coldly looking on, so Draco rears back his hand and slaps him.

_“Listen to me!”_

It works. Aamir wakes up from whatever spell he’s under to finally focus on what’s happening right in front of him.

“Shit, _shit_, I’m sorry Draco. Fuck I just –“ Aamir’s eyes are wild, unfocused, taking in everything in the room, but he’s still clear headed enough to take out his wand. “_Expedire immobilis!_”

Harry collapses to the ground and an army of fire ants come out of his mouth. His face is swelling and so is his tongue and Draco doesn’t want to see what happens when his throat swells up from the venom.

Draco turns angrily to face Aamir. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you! This is too far – I would’ve never said that stupid spell if I had known it would do this. Call it off!”

Aamir has his best clueless look on, but Draco knows better to fall for it. He knows Aamir, and he knows Aamir would never cast a spell he didn’t know. He’s too smart for that.

“I swear Draco if I had known-“

_“_Call it off_ NOW!”_

_“Igne Mori!”_

It stops. No more fire ants climb out of Harry’s throat and he’s unresponsive on the floor, color slowly turning back to normal.

“Is he dead?” Aamir whispers fearfully.

Draco gulps. “Don’t be stupid.” He snaps.

They move closer to the body and Aamir stops to look at him. “You have to check his pulse.”

“Me? Why me?” Draco hisses.

“’Cuz you’re the one who cast the spell,” Aamir snaps.

“Only because you baited me!”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re going to play the victim?”

Draco scowls. “Fine. If you’re going to be such a _baby_ about it, I’ll check his pulse.”

Draco bends down slowly, then puts his fingers to Harry’s throat.

“I can’t feel anything.” He whispers.

“You’ll have to give him mouth to mouth.” Aamir replies.

“What!” Draco hisses. “Are you out of your _mind?”_

“Just do it unless you want a dead body on your hands!” Aamir snaps.

Draco gulps. He can’t do Azkaban. He won’t do Azkaban. He’s only eleven years old for Merlin’s sake and he really doesn’t treasure the idea of spending time with his uncle Sirius. So, he starts to lower his head to meet Harrys lips, hoping for the best, when Harry suddenly opens his eyes, and says two words:

“Vito. _Expedire_. ”

The door to the familiar’s cage is thrown open and Draco hears it before he sees it: Harry’s falcon attacking Aamir.

And Draco’s faced with the realization he’s never heard Aamir scream like that before.

“Stupefy!” The falcon falls to the ground and Draco races to Aamir’s side.

“We have to get out of here if they catch us- “

But Aamir is still screaming and clutching at his eye, and there’s blood dripping from somewhere because it’s all over Aamir’s shirt, and Draco has no idea what to do, doesn’t know how everything got so completed messed up, just knows he has to get out of here before they get in trouble.

“Fuck, _fuck _–“ Draco’s pulling Aamir out of the cabin, hoping they can find some kind of adult to help him, when Harry speaks up for the last time.

His voice is cracked when he speaks, but still crystal clear.

“This isn’t over, Draco.”

And Draco doesn’t look at him, but he knows, _he knows_ –

He’s completely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more drama hehehe! i just love how these misunderstandings and problems keep popping out between Harry and Draco, don't you :)))


	3. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo this was supposed to be at the beginning as a PROLOGUE but i forgot so im inserting here right BEFORE the sorting chapter because it's the second best place to put it. i might have more interludes in the future where its a short chapter in someone else's POV but no promises. i actually have the next, LONGER chapter already ready so it will be coming out soon after this!

“First you tell me it’s up to me whether Lily lives or dies. That I should tell you all I know, and you’ll be able to save her. But then she dies _anyway!_ And then with the boy, you say I can do _penance_. You say he has her eyes. You say we must protect him – and then you _lose_ him!”

Severus Snape is pacing back and forth in the headmaster’s office, eyes livid.

“It’s been _three years_, Albus! Three years in which you _promised_ me we’d find him together, that we would find him in time for Hogwarts, and yet _he is still not here!”_

Severus Snape bangs his fist on Dumbledore’s desk, furious with the expression of eternal calm that is ever present on the headmaster’s face, even when confronted with the full wrath of Snape’s anger.

“Please, Severus, calm-“

_“Do not tell me to calm.”_ Snape growls. “Do not tell me to calm down when the fact that he is missing could very well mean Voldemort is alive. That he is alive and that he has taken Harry for his own, to regain strength. Who else would dare steal away the ‘_savior’_ of the wizarding world?”

“You think the thought never crossed my mind?” Dumbledore interrupts, incredulous. “That it was Voldemort? That one of his followers had stolen the child away to bring their master back to life? _Of course_ it crossed my mind, Severus.” Dumbledore says, exasperated. “But it doesn’t make _sense_. As you said yourself: it’s been three years. If Voldemort had gotten a hold of the boy, he would’ve risen by now. There would have been stirrings. A sign. A call to his former followers. But none of that has happened. Someone else took this child, Severus. I have no idea who, and I have no idea why, but it was _not _Voldemort.”

Severus scoffs. “Ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous. _Accio_ newspaper.” A paper apparates in Snape’s hand. He slams it down in front of Dumbledore. “And what about this, _hmmm?_ Who allowed this to happen? Merlin’s Merry Elves?” He asks sarcastically.

Dumbledore looks at the newspaper in question. It’s the Daily Prophet and a young Sirius Black look alike graces the cover. The headline reads:

_“Potter Family Betrayer’s Son Formally Announced Black Heir; Accepted Into Hogwarts.”_

“That,” Dumbledore says, scratching his beard, “I must admit, was a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Snape snarls, eyes filled with loathing. “You are one of the few with the authority to admit students into Hogwarts. You knew he applied, and you _accepted_ his application?”

Dumbledore sighs. He knows this isn’t good. “Severus-“

“No.” Snape cuts in, eyes as sharp as a knife. “His father killed Lily. Killed the Potters. I didn’t even know about this boy’s existence until about three weeks ago. How was he raised? Why was he kept hidden? This situation has death eater written _all _over it.”

“You cannot judge this boy for his father’s mistakes, Severus-“

“_I will not let a murderer’s son attend Hogwarts!”_ Snape booms, eyes viciously mad, an angry red flush to his usually sallow cheeks.

_No_, Albus thinks to himself, _you will not let **Lily’s** murderer’s son attend Hogwarts_.

Dumbledore, however, does not voice this, knowing it will not go over well. Instead he tries to compromise.

“I of course understand your worries, Severus.” Albus replies calmly. “And I assure you if this boy was to step out of line in anyway, he would immediately be expulsed. But for now let’s not let this boy’s past define him. Who knows what kinds of adversities he’s had to overcome in his life, just for being the son of who he is.”

Snape does not look pleased with this statement. “But-!“

“But nothing.” Dumbledore cuts in firmly, losing his serene expression for something more serious. “He is a student of Hogwarts. His surname does not determine his future. If I have to hear you spout any more of this ignorance, I am afraid I will lose my temper.”

Snape and Dumbledore stare each other down, until finally Snape gives in.

“Fine.” He snaps. “But don’t come crying to me when he turns out _exactly_ like his father.”

“Oh trust me, Severus.” Albus replies coolly, expression serene again. “I won’t.”

Severus storms out of the room, still wild with anger, and slams the door behind him. When he’s gone, Albus turns to look at the newspaper once again.

The face on the newspaper is sophisticated, smooth, and refined: every inch of what an Heir should look like. But the face is also serious, somber. There is no haughty grin of expecting the world to be at your feet, no smug arrogance, no wicked amusement. In fact, this does not seem like a child easily amused. His face, while sophisticated, is also hard. Mean.

Aries Black looks like a child who has not smiled in a long time.

XXX

In an opposite corner of the castle, in a dark room with the doors locked, a man talks to himself in the mirror.

_Any news of him, Quirinussss?_

“_N-n-n_o, my Lord. No news. I didn’t see his _n-n-n_ame on any of my rosters.”

_And if he was on someone else’s?_

“Impo_s-s-s_-ible, my Lord. All first years have to attend my class. If he was attending Hogwarts, he would’ve _b-b_een on my roster.”

_How funny…The Boy Who Lived is now The Boy Who is Lost…my how the tables have turned, Quirinusss. I’m sure that old fool Dumbledore is going mad with worry…where has his little weapon disappeared to? I hope that boy stays lost forever…I hope somebody killed him…I hope someone cut him into tiny little pieces and fed him to the dogs…**wretched** little boy…_

Quirell shivers, disgusted with the explicit details of Voldemort’s wishes.

“I _h-h-h_ope so too, my Lord.” He lies, tearing pieces of the Daily Prophet to keep his nervous hands busy.

Voldemort takes notice. Sees the headline splashed across the page, and laughs.

_Sirius had a son? Oh what a poor unfortunate soul that boy is…how everyone will try to drag him down…how everyone will try to tear him apart…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lack of drarry, but unfortunately I do have to develop the plot :(  
GIMME LOVEEEE


	4. Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahaha sorry i lied about the quick update before lol. i swear i had it done already but I kept getting busy and i had no time to post it. anyway here it is!! enjoy!

Draco sits outside the nurses office shaking his foot impatiently.

There had been no nurses on the train (obviously) and no helpful adults. The most help they got was from a Slytherin Prefect who couldn’t do much other than give Draco a first aid kit and a private cabin on the train for just him and Aamir.

When asked what had happened, Draco had been forced to lie.

“A wild familiar. It just came out of nowhere and attacked him! I didn’t even see its owner!”

The prefect had narrowed his eyes at him but gave no further comment and sent them on their way. The only reason Draco hadn’t snitched his heart out and gotten that beast of a pet put down was because of Aamir.

“You can’t tell them.” He had groaned between gasps of pain. “We set a dark curse on Black. In Hogwarts eyes, that’s a much more punishable offense than a rabid falcon.”

“But it wasn’t a rabid falcon!” Draco had cried, outraged. “He set it on you! He released it from its cage!”

“There’s no way to prove it!” Aamir had snapped. “You think they’re just going to take our word for it? No way.” Aamir chuckled humorlessly. “To them it’s much more plausible that the falcon attacked on its own.”

“But-“ Draco had tried to protest, but Aamir interrupted.

_“Enough, Draco!” _Aamir had shouted. His amber eyes were burning, and for once, Aamir wasn’t trying to fake appearances, to pretend he was anything other than what he was, which of right then, was dreadfully angry. A muscle in his jaw twitched. When he spoke again, it was with a forced calm.

“You know I can’t have my father find out about this.”

It was just one sentence, but Draco understood that it was time to stand down. Nasir Shafiq finding out about this was not an option. And even more true that that, and even more unspoken, was the fact that Nasir Shafiq hating his only pureblood son _even more_ was not an option.

So Draco had been forced to lie, and forced to apply his very limited (see: zero) nursing skills using a first aid kit that was more equipped for _‘oh I just scraped my knee’_ situations rather than _‘a dark wizard’s son attacked me with his eight inch taloned familiar’_ situations, for the whole train ride, and afterwards was rushed on a boat to Hogwarts to the nearest nurse in sight, of which he was waiting for now.

Draco stood up as she entered the hall.

“Mrs…Pomfrey? I’m here for my friend Aamir?”

“Ah yes.” Her eyes glimmered with recognition. “Shafiq’s son. You may enter now.”

Draco rushed past the nurse into the room. He saw rows of beds and at the far end Aamir, head in his hands. Aamir didn’t notice his approach, so he gently laid a hand on him as he reached the bed.

“Aamir?” He whispered, noticing a strange tension in the air. “Are you okay?”

Aamir looked up slowly, and the first thing Draco noticed was that both of his eyes were intact.

The second thing was that there was a long claw mark across his right eye.

Draco swallows nervously. Aamir’s expression is dead, vacant, and Draco is unable to read him right now. The scar across his eye is a raw red that hurts Draco to look at.

“You almost scared me there, Shafiq. I thought you’d lost an eye!” Draco laughs nervously, pointedly ignoring the claw mark, and continues laughing until he realizes Aamir isn’t going to join in, expression the same as one on a marble statue.

Draco feels that weird tension again, and knows something isn’t right. “Aamir? You _are _okay, right?” He asks nervously, waiting for some kind of response.

And finally, Aamir laughs. At first he’s just staring vacantly, but then he laughs and it’s so abrupt that Draco flinches, and he won’t stop laughing, and it’s an ugly, desperate laugh, and he laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs

Until he starts to cry.

XXX

Harry leaves the train in a quiet fury.

He doesn’t know the spell to release Weasel from the levicorpus or the other spell Shafiq placed, and even if he did, he wouldn’t waste his time on Weasel undoing it, so he leaves the red headed boy dangling and silent in the cabin.

Harry scratches at his arms and at his throat and at his face and thinks of Draco. _Seethes_ at the thought.

_That little worm, that gutless little worm. I bet only Shafiq knew that spell. I bet he had to teach it to Draco, and coax him into using it, because everyone knows that Draco Malfoy is a yellow bellied little coward-_

“Every ‘un on a boat, now! Every ‘un on a boat!”

Harry growls and pushes past cry baby toad boy as he reaches one of the boats. Just his luck, one Hermione Granger is sitting on it along with another person – a dark skinned boy Harry doesn’t recognize.

_Oh!_ And even better – the Toad boy has decided to sit with them!

Toad boy carefully enters the boat, makes eye contact with Harry, and then promptly looks away so fast he almost falls into the lake.

“What?” Harry asks innocently, but his eyes are narrowed. “Not pretty enough for you, Toad boy?”

“Uhh-I-hm-I-I-,” Toad boy stutters incoherently, until Granger interrupts him.

“First of all,” she says in a very snotty tone, “his name is Neville. And second of all, your skin is _very_ blotchy and red, quite unhealthily so, if you were wondering.”

“Yeah and you have the two front teeth of a beaver!” Harry snaps back in anger, already in a foul mood and Granger’s obliviousness pushing it to the breaking point. “What’s your point?”

Granger blushes furiously and now it’s her turn to stutter, covering her mouth with a hand, and all of a sudden the dark skinned boy speaks up.

“She didn’t mean it as an insult.” He says quietly, looking Harry dead in the eye. “She was just acknowledging your question. You didn’t have to be so rude.”

Harry feels his jaw clench. _And you don’t have to be sitting in this boat_, he thinks. _I could drown you in the lake with just the thought in my mind._

Instead, however, Harry gives a pleasant, if forced, smile.

“I didn’t like her tone.” He replies. “Personally, I thought she was the one being rude.” He says condescendingly.

“And I don’t like the way your talking to me right now,” the black boy replies smoothly. “But am I insulting you? No.”

Harry narrows his eyes but the other boy doesn’t break his stare, so Harry switches tactics.

He laughs.

“It was a joke, obviously.” He says rolling his eyes. “You guys are way too sensitive.”

The black boy just stares at him. He clearly doesn’t believe Harry, but Toad boy and Buckteeth do so it really doesn’t matter.

“Right.” The black boy says flatly. “A joke.”

Harry only grins in response.

_Asshole._

XXX

“I just don’t get why you cried if everything’s okay.”

“Draco, I was hopped up on a bunch of potions, there’s no _reason_ why I cried, and I’m not going to repeat myself again, so can you please just shut up?”

“But-“

Aamir groans. “Draco, my head is killing me, _please_.”

Draco and Aamir are on their way to the sorting hat, having been cleared by Madam Pomfrey, and though he doesn’t believe Aamir for a second, he shuts up because he’s a good friend. Because Aamir doesn’t just cry like that. And he’s _especially_ not vain enough to cry over an itty bitty scar (even though admittedly, it isn’t itty bitty). In fact, Draco can count on one hand how many times Aamir has cried in front of him before.

Once. Just once.

And it was for an extreme reason. It wasn’t for a _Draco reason_ (which is what Aamir calls Draco’s tantrums), because Draco cries at least once a week for really no reason at all, it had to be for something real. Something that _hurt_.

But Draco can’t confirm it, and Aamir will never admit it, so it really doesn’t matter at all.

In a fit of annoyance at this fact, Draco whacks Aamir on the arm.

“Ow.” Aamir glares, rubbing his arm. “I was attacked by a bird of prey today, and this is how you treat me?”

Draco only sniffs pompously. “You’re lucky you have me as a friend. You know nobody cares about you like I do, right?”

The annoyance in Aamir’s eyes slowly drains away, replaced by something Draco can’t read. He stares at Draco unblinkingly, his voice entirely serious when he says

“Yeah. I know.”

XXX

Harry wants to say he’s the first one off the boat, but it’s Neville who gets off first, scrambling off like the devil himself was sitting next to him, which he supposes in Neville’s mind isn’t too far off.

Before he can go in line like the rest of the kids however, he’s pulled aside by a prefect who tells him he needs to go to the nurse first, which honestly, Harry can’t agree with more. He’s still itching like crazy.

Mrs. Pomfrey is a relatively nice lady, if a little sadistic (aren’t all nurses though?), and she rubs salve on Harry’s skin (a bit too roughly if you ask him) that makes the itchiness go away and eventually the bites as well. He’s sleeping in his cot with the curtain closed when he hears a terrible screaming that jolts him wide awake, like two pieces of vocal cords rubbing themselves raw.

“Mr. Shafiq…” He hears very vaguely the voice of Mrs. Pomfrey. “Please…Shafiq…_down_.”

_Aamir? Aamir’s in here?_ The thought fills Harry with a vicious glee. Though he does remember releasing Vito from his cage, he couldn’t see what happened to Aamir because his eyes were all swollen from the venom.

_Serves him right, serves him goddamn-_

Suddenly Harry hears hurried steps on the linoleum floor and then a voice calling out.

“Aamir!”

Harry feels himself stiffen. Scratches unconsciously at his jaw.

_Draco._

Harry opens the curtain in his cot just a smidge, peeking out on the scene. Draco’s smiling and laughing, and then Aamir’s laughing too, in an entirely different way, until he breaks out in tears.

Draco gapes in shock before immediately launching himself at Aamir, engulfing him in a hug.

Harry can’t help but scoff in disgust. Figures Aamir would pull out the water works just to have Draco baby him.

So Harry fumes silently in his cot, until finally Aamir and Draco leave, finally ending their little _show_, and letting Harry leave as well without having to confront them. Pomfrey tells him to get to the Great Hall, and when he gets there he sees a long line, and people being ordered by their last names.

“Last name?” One prefect asks.

Harry smiles pleasantly, says his name, and watches as the prefect’s whole demeanor changes, shifting into a fidgety sort of nervousness. The prefect takes him to the front of the line, and while doing so he passes Draco, who he jumps at bearing his teeth in a snarl, and is very pleased when Draco flinches back in fear.

Other kids stare at him as he passes, and it takes all his will not to jump out and scare them too.

Harry is only standing in line for a little while when the sorting hat calls his name out.

“Aries Black.”

The silence is deafening. There is no polite applause, no encouragement as Aries walks up to the sorting hat. Instead there are a million eyes, all staring at him in varying degrees of hostility.

And there are whispers of course.

“How _dare_ he show his face around here-“

“-better not be in _my_ fucking house-“

“-baby death eater in training-“

“Did you hear what his dad did? Fucking sick-“

“-_monster_. His dad was a monster, and mark my words, he’ll be a monster too. That shit is bloody hereditary.”

Harry pictures himself collapsing all of their lungs into dust to ease his nervousness.

When the sorting hat is put on, it’s easier to tune out all the voices, all the eyes that burn into him like a brand.

“Ohhhhh what do we have here?” The sorting hat muses. “Someone who claims to be someone they’re not. You’re not a Black.”

Harry’s heartbeat increases, he feels his blood pump quicker through his veins. Fuck shit bloody hell-

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t tell. I’m just a _hat_ after all who would believe me?” The hat laughs. “But my my, very interesting. How ironic that the person everyone is staring at with hatred right now is their savior.”

Harry feels his heartbeat slow down, become more assured as he realizes the hat won’t spill anything.

“I thought you were a _sorting_ hat, not a gossiping hat.” Harry drawls, acting more arrogant than he feels.

The hat laughs again. “Very well, very well. You got a point there. I suppose I ought to move along, there is a line after all.” The hat stops talking for a while after that, mumbling to itself. “Definitely not Hufflepuff, you aren’t exactly _true_…not Ravenclaw either…you’re cunning but not very smart…hmmm…that leaves Slytherin and Gryffindor…and I…_hmm_…am at a draw.”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“Well I can see you’re very daring – and you do have a lot of nerve impersonating the lost Heir of House Black – but on the other hand I see Slytherin characteristics as well. You’re definitely cunning, I mean – you’ve made it this far with that false identity, and I’m sure you’d use any means to achieve your ends.”

Harry thinks of Draco. The closet.

“_Any_.”

“Well then you could see how I’d be at a draw. I suppose it’s up to you.”

Harry thinks for a second. He remembers the boat ride here where after the little fight the others began talking amongst each other. They’d all agreed they wanted to be in Gryffindor. And so did that Weasel on the train. He thinks about his Uncle Marius and Aunt Nestra and their countless speeches on the superiority of Slytherin house. He thinks about Draco, when they were kids, talking about Slytherin like it was everything, his usual gunmetal gray eyes turned a dreamy quality. But most of all, he thinks about what Granger said about Sirius.

_“Strange, really, that he was in Gryffindor.”_

And that’s all it takes really. Harry refuses to be in the same house as the person who murdered his family. He’d slit his own wrists before doing so.

“SLYTHERIN!” The sorting hat screams, and there are no claps, no cheers, from anybody. Instead there’s an unease in the room that remains unnamed. And across the room, on the high table, two men carefully watch the scene unfolding, one with narrowed eyes, and the other curiously.


	5. Welcome to Hogwarts, Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dramaaaaaa

Draco deflates when he hears Slytherin called out.

_Of course. Of **bloody** course. Not only does Harry have to go to Hogwarts with me, he has to be in my bloody house as well. Well – there goes my perfect school year._

In front of him, Longbottom gives a obvious sigh of relief. Draco whacks him on the side of the head for daring to do so.

“What in the _hell_ are you so happy about, Longbottom?” Draco snarls, infuriated that Neville gets to be relieved about Harry not being in his house. “Just because Black isn’t in Gryffindor doesn’t mean he won’t go out of his way to bully a ninny like you.”

Longbottom pales at Draco’s statement, the thought obviously never having crossed his mind.

When it’s finally Draco’s turn, the sorting hat hasn’t even been on his head for a second when it calls out Slytherin. Draco tries not to be too smug about it.

The Slytherin table roars in support and Draco makes sure to take the seat farthest from Harry, who immediately catches his gaze as he does, and points at his eye, smirking.

Draco gapes at the audacity and immediately feels red hot anger crawl up his spine.

_Filthy half-blood scum._

After Draco there’s only a couple of more Slytherin’s sorted, along with Shafiq. Everyone thinks Zabini will be the last one but then a surprise name is called.

Ronald Weasley.

Draco’s not even paying attention at first, already knowing where every Weasley is sorted, as proven by the table filled with red heads, but then there is a long silence, and a troubled Weasley, and then all of a sudden the sorting hat is calling out Slytherin and there is a confused smattering of applause.

Ron walks to the Slytherin table with flaming hair and a flaming face. He takes an empty seat and just sits, obviously still in shock, until Harry yells at him from across the table:

“Guess that means you’re going to go bad, Weasel-be.” He laughs.

Weasley stares at him, horrified. “This is a mistake. It must be. No _way_ I’m in Slytherin-”

At the other end of the table, Marcus Flint grunts. “Blood traitor.” Everyone laughs.

Ron shuts up after that.

XXX

After the big meal in the mess hall everyone lines up to head to their dormitories.

“My name’s Jae-ho Park. First years follow me.” Says a bored looking boy with a badge on his robes.

There’s a lot of walking down a marble staircase until they finally get to a portrait of Salazar Slytherin hanging on a wall.

“Password.” He asks in an irritated drawl.

“Pure-blood.” The prefect replies.

“Oh?” Draco asks in mock surprise. “Pure-blood as in, something Aries Black _isn’t?”_

Aamir snorts. Everyone else bursts into uproarious laughter. Harry on the other hand glares at him from across the room, face an ugly red.

Even the prefect seems to crack a little smile before hiding it.

“Alright so I hold in my hands all of your room assignments. These room assignments can in no way be changed, exchanged or switched. These will be your room assignments all year, and likely for all your years at Hogwarts if you’re extremely unlucky.”

Draco glances nervously at Aamir but Aamir only shrugs nonchalantly. The thing is Draco _has_ to have a room with Aamir. Aamir is the only person he really trusts, and though he knows he could get along with Crabbe and Goyle if push comes to shove, Aamir really much more of a better (see more intelligent) friend.

“There are two dormitories, each consisting of four students. Dormitory one will consist of Vincent Crabbe, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle and-“

Draco crosses his fingers. _Don’t say Aamir don’t say Aamir Merlin please don’t say Aamir-_

“-Aamir Shafiq.”

Draco’s stomach drops. From across the room Blaise glares at Aamir. Aamir smiles back in reply but says through gritted teeth-

“-Gross I have to room with Zabini? I’m going to off myself before the end of the night.”

“Oh _poor_ you.” Draco snarls. “I have Nott, Black _and_ a Weasley? We’ll _all _kill ourselves by the end of the night, mark my words.”

“Isn’t it _soooo _nice, Dray?” Harry asks, popping out of nowhere. Draco jumps.

“What?” He snaps. “What’s so nice about any of this?”

Harry is smiling pleasantly, like they didn’t just try to kill each other just an hour ago, and Draco is annoyed, but next to him, just for a second, Aamir looks murderous.

“That we get to room together of course. Family should _always_ stick together, isn’t that right cousin?”

Draco moves closer to Harry, blocking his view of Aamir and making sure he’s close enough that Aamir won’t hear.

“We’re not family but you know that, don’t you, Harry? So stop with the stupid little jokes. You _aren’t_ funny.” Draco hisses in Harry’s ear.

Harry’s smile chills. “You aren’t very funny either, Draco. What happened on the train – is that your idea of a joke? Because I wasn’t laughing. Or wait,” Harry’s eyes go wide in mock surprise, “was that your _boyfriend’s_ idea?”

Draco feels the blood rush to his cheeks. What the hell is up with Harry and this bloody boyfriend thing? Why is he so fixed on it?

“Don’t you know my last name, Harry? Or are you that stupid?” Draco snaps. “It’s Malfoy. And Malfoy’s don’t bend to anyone’s will but their own. My father _owns_ the Ministry, and one day I will too. What about your father?” This time it’s Draco’s turn to feign surprise. “Oh that’s right! He’s a criminal! In _Azkaban_.” Draco smiles sweetly. “Maybe one day you will be too.”

Harry is no longer amused. “So what happened in the train – that was all you?”

Draco feels himself swallow, feels his fingers start to twitch nervously. The fact of the matter is that Harry’s right – that was not his idea at all. It wasn’t even in the scope of his idea. And yes, Aamir (NOT his boyfriend), was the one who pushed him to it, and Draco did bend, but can he really say all this to Harry? I almost killed you because Aamir told me to? After the whole speech about Malfoy’s not bending to anyone he’s going to admit freely that he bent to Aamir’s will?

No bloody way. It’d make him look like a total pillock.

Draco scoffs. Looks in every direction except Harry’s. “Of course it was my idea.”

Aamir, obviously tired of being left out of the conversation, butts in.

“What was your idea?”

Draco tugs on his ear nervously. “The train, Aamir – duh.” He says more confidently than he feels.

“Oh yeah.” Aamir says locking eyes with Draco in complete understanding, before turning to face Harry. “You didn’t know? Draco totally loathes you. It was all his idea.” Aamir’s voice is casual, but his eyes are narrowed and mean.

Something ugly flashes in Harry’s face before turning cold again.

“You know you could’ve killed me?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Aamir snaps, pushing his way into Harry’s face, their noses almost touching.

“You know _you_ almost killed me?” Aamir snarls, eyes flashing a dangerous shade of amber.

Heads turn at Aamir’s outburst. Harry is noticeably surprised as well, this being the most he’s seen Aamir angry. Once he’s over the shock, however, he rolls his eyes.

“Oh right, my _baby_ Falcon scratched your face. And now you have an itty _bitty_ scar. _So_ sorry about that. I was too busy trying to _breathe_ at the moment to care.” Harry sneers in reply.

“_Baby_ falcon?” Aamir says incredulously. “That familiar of yours is a hazard. It should be put down.” Aamir smiles the way a snake rattles: as a warning. “You’re lucky I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m lucky?” Harry laughs. “What about you, boy wonder? Last I checked, dark curses aren’t allowed here. In fact, you could be put on a potential death eater watchlist if I decided to report you.” Harry smiles wide, his canines the sharpest thing in the room. “Wouldn’t that be great? Being constantly monitored by the Ministry? Being an even _greater_ disappointment to your father?”

Draco’s heart stops in his chest at Harry’s comment. Aamir freezes for a moment at the threat, before recovering and chuckling darkly.

“Who are you to talk to me about fathers, Black? About _disappointment?_ Your father’s a murderer. Clinically insane. You think if he knew about your existence he’d be happy about it? His son, a half-blood? Born from a squib he _raped_-“

“Don’t.” Harry cuts in, his eyes blazing. Draco thinks he can almost see the green burning through. Conversations die. People start to stare.

Aamir smirks. He’s caught Harry in his trap, found out what’s going to make him lose control, lose face in front of an entire house that prides itself on staying in control. It’s his turn to laugh, his amber eyes glittering in mean amusement.

“Oh come on, _Aries_.” Aamir drawls. “Are you really going to pretend right now? That Sirius Black, your father, double agent extraordinaire, blood purist sycophant of _Voldemort_-“

Draco feels a chill in the air, the same he felt in that closet so long ago, a dark shadow looming, sees the anger in Harry’s eyes grow, and knows Aamir has to stop, right now.

“Aamir you need to shut up.” He hisses. “You have no idea what you’re-”

“-are you really going to pretend he did anything _but_ rape her?”

Harry fists his hand in Aamir’s shirt and forces him against the wall.

“You’re a really funny guy, Shafiq.” Harry says smiling in a crazy way, but eyes glittering with hatred. “I wonder though,” he says, dropping the smile, “if you’ll still be laughing when you eat my _fucking_ fist-“

“That’s enough.” A firm voice cuts through the drama. It’s the prefect.

Park goes to remove Harry from Aamir but Harry struggles against him until Park yanks him by the collar.

“I said that’s _enough_.” He snaps. “You need to cool it, Black. Everyone’s going to say your mother was raped, whether it’s true or not, and you need to get used to it.”

Harry growls. “I won’t let anyone-“

“And _you_.” Park glares at Aamir, completely cutting Harry off. “You need to stop baiting people. The last thing I need is for Snape to come down on me because you two were fighting.”

Aamir gives his best _who me?_ look. “I wasn’t baiting anyone-“

“Save it, Shafiq.” Park says rolling his eyes. “I know your brother.”

Aamir’s expression changes like a light switch. His face goes stormy.

“Alex isn’t my-“

“Alright everyone to their rooms NOW! Enough is enough. Go have drama in your own dorm rooms where I can’t be held responsible.” When nobody moves, Park snaps. “Fucking _SCRAM_!”

Everybody scrams.

XXX

“What the fuck is your boyfriend’s problem, Malfoy?” Is the first thing Harry says to Draco when they’re all in their dorm.

“Yeah, Malfoy.” Weasley rudely pitches in, glaring at Draco from across the room. “Your boyfriend’s absolutely barking. _First_ he leaves me hanging there and I almost miss Hogwarts, and second he beats the bloody _pulp _out of baby death eater over here-“

“He did _NOT_ beat the bloody pulp out of me-“

“For the LAST time Aamir isn’t my boyfriend! Why can’t you get that inside those _tiny_ brains of yours-“

“_Everybody shut up!”_ Nott snaps. Everyone turns to look at him, surprised. “Shafiq is a cool bloke-“

Draco pointedly glares at both Weasley and Potter. “See?”

“-when he’s _not_ hanging out with Draco.”

Weasley and Potter both laugh. Draco chucks a pillow at Theo. “Oh sod off, Nott!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, _Princess _Draco,” Nott says acidly, “this is my room too.”

“Nott you _do_ realize we’re going to have to try and get along, right?” Draco says sourly. “We’re the only two purebloods in this room. We’re the only two who understand each other. The harder you my life, the harder you’re making yours.”

“Well, frankly, _Princess_,” Nott says sarcastically, “the purity of your blood doesn’t make up for your absolute _prattiness_.”

Draco’s blood boils. He knows he’s used the last of his patience, and as such, his mouth becomes looser. Maybe too loose. “You know you were actually a cool bloke before you decided to hate me? Don’t tell me you’re still upset about what I did like _500_ years ago.”

Nott’s back stiffens at his bed where he’s unpacking his clothes.

Draco can’t help but laugh. “Seriously? You’re _still_ upset about that?”

From across the room, Black looks up from his bed. “Upset about what?”

“None of your business, half-blood!” Nott snaps back instantly, still as stiff as a witches broom.

Draco can’t even believe what’s happening. “It wasn’t even that big of deal! And it was _sooo_ long ago. Just because I-“

Theo leaps across his bed and is on Draco in an instant, covering his mouth with both hands.

“I swear on my mother’s grave,” Nott whispers harshly in Draco’s ear, “that if you say anything about that time, to _anyone_, we won’t just have a problem anymore, Draco. I will bloody _annihilate_ you.”

Draco is struggling against Theo’s grip and is just able to push him off after the end of his little speech. _Bloody obnoxious little prat-_

“Get off me, Theo!” Draco snaps in annoyance once he’s broken Nott’s hold. Nott has fallen on his arse and is now sitting on the floor, glaring up at Draco. “And don’t _ever_ put your filthy little hands on me again. If you want to tell me something next time, tell me like a normal person, you bloody pillock.”

Nott scoffs. “You’re such an arsehole, Draco, but you have such an inflated sense of self you don’t even realize it. It’s like-“ Theo opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it, looking down at the floor. “Forget it.” He mutters.

Draco, on the other hand, is not going to forget it. How can he forget it when Theo pitched such a big fit over it? No, Draco’s annoyed now. Because isn’t this just like Nott? To be so passive aggressive? To talk so much trash and then just pretend it isn’t a big deal? That he actually doesn’t even really care?

But whatever. Even before Draco did what he did, it wasn’t like he and Theo were the best of mates. They were on good terms, sure, but they weren’t friends. It isn’t Draco’s job to go baby him and make him feel better. No, that’s Zabini’s job now.

“Whatever, Nott.” Draco snaps at Theo’s retreating back. “Just go pout in the corner like you always do, you big baby! It’s not like any of us even care.”

“Can you shut up, Malfoy?” Weasley snaps from his bed. “Some of us are _actually_ trying to sleep here.”

“Shut up, Weasel!” Draco snaps back.

In an other corner of the room, Harry laughs.

XXX

By the time everyone falls asleep it’s already late.

That’s when they come.

The door to their dormitory bursts open and Harry is up like a gunshot, a light sleeper from constantly having to be at the beck and call of the Dursley’s growing up. Three people have entered their room, black hoods covering their faces. Harry reaches for his wand and-

-a hand closes itself around his wrist. “_Ah, ah, ah_. Not so fast, Black.”

The second person grabs Weasley from the other side of the room while the third keeps lookout, standing in the middle of their doorway. Weasley opens his mouth to scream but the second guy casts a silencio charm. Weasley looks furious.

“Now, I’m not going to have to silence you like that blood traitor, right Black? Or are you not mature enough to handle this in an adult way?”

Harry shakes his head, wary, but not about to be hit with a spell.

“Good.” Says the shadowed person, seemingly pleased if his tone is anything to go by. “Now we’re going to go on a little trip.”

The first guy puts Harry over his shoulder and the other guys follow. It’s only when they’ve reached the door that Harry notices Draco’s awake. And he’s not the only one.

“Go back to sleep, Malfoy.” Says the guy carrying Harry. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Malfoy is sitting up in bed, covers at his waist, hair sticking in every direction with very obvious hesitance on his face. The guy notices.

“Malfoy.” His tone holds a warning. “Don’t make this hard on yourself.”

Draco’s gaze locks on Harry’s for a second. He doesn’t know what he sees there. Pity? Empathy? Understanding? He hopes all three. But Harry should know better. And he shouldn’t expect anything.

Draco looks away, and then all three guys are out the door.

After that, they walk for a while. The hooded people don’t blindfold Harry, so it seems they aren’t taking them to any secret place. And when they suddenly go outdoors, Harry doesn’t know what to expect _even more_, that is, until they reach the lake.

A bad feeling sinks to the bottom of Harry’s stomach.

The guy carrying Harry drops him on the ground, and the third guy comes to grab him, forcing his arms behind his back. The second guy does the same to Weasley, before releasing him from the silencing spell.

The first guy drops his hood. The first thing Harry notices is his bright blonde hair. The second, the squareness of his jaw. He looks like a bloke who could take a lot of punches.

The guy gives them a smile with movie star white teeth.

“Now, I’m sure you’re both wondering why you’re here.”

“-yeah because you’re a fucking mental headcase pureblood Slytherin _PYSCHO_-“

Bright blonde hair doesn’t stop smiling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Weasel’s outburst.

“Shut up Weasley or I will shut you up. And I don’t mean to brag but I know a _lot _of dark curses that will make a fist to your jaw seem like child’s play when I hurt you.”

“Fucking do your worst, arsehole-“

Movie Star Smile flicks his wrist and Weasley starts to scream. His throat is glowing a bright, pulsing orange as if there’s a fire in his mouth. Weasley struggles against the bloke who’s holding him but he can’t get out of his hold, so instead he claws at his throat like an animal but pulls away when he realizes he’s only burning his hand as well.

Harry’s eyes shift from Weasley to Movie Star Smile. He considers his next words carefully.

“Hey, I don’t particularly care either way, but if he dies I’m pretty sure you’re going to get in an arse load of trouble.”

Movie Star Smile stares at Harry for a second, before snickering. “Unlike you Black, my last name is worth something.” Movie Star Smile grins sickeningly. “I know you don’t know it, but I can get away with anything.”

Movie Star Smile stares him down, and Harry looks away, not wanting to be on the other hand of his wrath like Weasel currently is. But luckily someone else speaks up.

“Anton.” It’s the bloke holding Harry. “That’s enough.”

Movie Star Smile stops smiling. He stares down the bloke who spoke up instead, but obviously the guy isn’t in the same position as Harry, so he doesn’t look away. Instead, it’s Movie Star who looks away first.

“Fine.” He snaps, and Weasley drops to the ground as soon as he releases him from the magic choke hold.

The so called Anton looks annoyed now. He’s no longer smiling. He kicks Weasley’s unconscious body before turning in a fury to face Harry.

“Since it seems your friend’s no longer with us,” Anton sneers, “let me tell you why you’re here.” Anton holds up a finger, face pressed closed to Harry’s.

“One,” he spits, “you’re an aberration. You should’ve never been born. Your mother was a filthy, no good squib who was too weak to inherit the power that us as Wizards are owed.”

Harry feels that dark anger churn in the recesses of his mind. He concentrates on not letting it out. _She wasn’t even your mom. That squib he’s talking about, she’s not your real mom. The shit he’s spouting is irrelevant, Harry._

“Two,” Anton throws up another finger, “you took the spot of a deserving pureblood. You know how many people apply to Hogwarts, Black? _Thousands._ And you took the spot of someone who deserved it more. Someone with better blood. You _stole_ it.”

“And three,” Anton sneers, smile cutting, “you’re just fucking disgusting. Something like you doesn’t deserve to live, wasn’t meant to live, _literally_. You were born from a criminal, and you’ll probably die as criminal.” Anton smirks. “Gotta follow in Daddy’s footsteps right?”

_Snap._

That’s the sound of Harry’s calm breaking. And maybe Anton’s nose. He lunges forward and head butts Anton in the face, and Anton stumbles back howling. Breaking out of the hold he was in, Harry is just about to make a run for it, when Anton recovers and grabs him by the hair and pulls him across the grass.

Harry screams.

“Shiv, get the blood traitor!” Anton yells at the bloke who was guarding Weasley.

Harry tries to get Anton to let go of him by clawing at his wrist but Anton doesn’t budge. Harry’s scalp is on fire. It feels like it’s going to be ripped right off of his head.

It’s when they get to a pier that Harry begins to struggle more. He has a feeling he knows what Anton has in mind, and he’s not looking forward to it. Harry gives up on attacking Anton’s wrist and begins to dig into the floorboards of the pier, fingers turning bloody with wooden splinters and nails being torn to pieces, but he can’t let go. He can’t.

But in the end it’s useless. They reach the end of the pier anyway, and Anton smiles, pure victory in his face.

Shiv pulls up beside them, and Anton turns to face him. “Cast the spell, then dump him. Let him swim with the Squid.” Anton pauses for a moment, then laughs at some inside joke. “If he can.”

“_Gravis Onus!”_ On Anton’s orders, Shiv drops Weasley into the Great Lake, unconscious, but not before casting some unrecognizable Latin. Weasley is quick to disappear under the dark waters.

“You can’t fucking do this!” Harry yells. “He’s not even awake you’ll kill him!”

Anton grins. “But Aries, didn’t I tell you?” Anton turns to look at him, all faux incredulous. But then he turns serious. He drops his smile. His eyes narrow to knife slits.

“I can do anything.”

Anton yanks Harry by the collar of his shirt and throws him in the water.

The last thing he sees before being pulled under is Anton’s smiling face, blood on his teeth, mouth opening to say-

_“-Welcome to Hogwarts, Black_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -it's like you don't even realize the things you do hurt.
> 
> What do you guys think Draco did to Theo? Please let me hear your theories!
> 
> Also, what do you guys think that spell did?
> 
> Imaginary penny for yalls thoughts xoxo


	6. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if it feels updates have been going slow lately. schools started again and I have a job so im a lot more busy now and i've actually started a new work. if any of you are into thor x loki y'all should check it out. its not going to be a long work (i think) and it has shorter chapters than this work. yall should definitely hmu with them kudos hehe
> 
> hope yall enjoy!

The moment Harry hits the water it feels like a hundred pounds have been added to him. He knows how to swim, but it’s useless against the weight that’s pulling him under, pulling him farther and father away from the surface. At first he struggles, tries to push against the water to get enough momentum to break through, but it’s counter productive, burns away at the air that’s already lacking in his lungs.

And then, right when Harry’s just going to let the water take him for good, the weight suddenly disappears. Like someone just snapped their fingers and made it go away. It feels like a rock is being lifted off his back. He’s suddenly full of adrenaline as he kicks his way to the surface, lungs burning like dynamite about to explode.

He breaks through the surface of the water with a loud gasp and then just stays there, floating for a sec, just trying to regain his breath. That’s when he sees Weasley face down in the water a couple meters away from him.

“Fuck.” Harry mutters under his breath. He reaches Weasley in a few short strides and drags him along to the shore, where he collapses into the mud.

“Fuck you’re heavy, mate.” Harry wheezes. When Weasley doesn’t respond Harry turns to face him. He looks dead.

“The last bloody thing I need right now is to be accused of killing you, Weasel. So wake the fuck up.” When Weasley still doesn’t respond, Harry is about to perform CPR on him, but luckily Weasley does wake up, coughing up water as he does.

“Good, good, Weasley. Keep it up, get rid of that dirty water. I don’t particularly want to share a cell with my father in Azkaban.”

“You’re bloody mad, Black!” Ron says in between coughs. “You tried to kill me-!”

Harry whacks him on the side of the head. “Are you mental, Weasel? Do you have an actual intellectual disability? I bloody _saved_ you right now. If I hadn’t you’d be bloated fish food for the giant squid!”

Weasley gapes at him. “Did you just hit me right now? On the head? You know I’ve just recently been concussed? You do know how dangerous that is, right?”

“Not as dangerous as you thinking I tried to murder you.” Harry glares at him.

“Well, I wasn’t in my right mind now, was I? I’ve just woken up from a concussion, give a bloke a break here, yeah?” Weasley glares back.

“Yeah, well, not to rain on your parade but you got to hurry up a bit, mate. If we’re caught outside after bedtime we’ll be in an arseload of trouble.”

“We’ll get in trouble? _We?”_ Ron gapes incredulously. “What about your death eater friends, huh? What about them? Don’t want them to get in trouble, do you?” Weasley replies snidely.

“Are you bloody barking, Weasel?” Harry snarls. “They threw me into the water too, just for your information. There as much my friends as they are yours.”

“What so we’re just not going to say anything? _‘oh it’s cool you tried to drown us, no hard feelings, mate?’_ Fuck no, Black. I’m not like you. I don’t let the shit people do or say about me slide.”

Harry feels his jaw twitch. “Do you even know who those guys were, Weasley? Did you even see any of their faces besides the blonde one? And even if you did, they were obviously older, and we’re in the Slytherin house. Whose going to take our word over theirs? We don’t even have any proof.”

“Sure we do! Malfoy saw them-“

Harry cuts in sharply. “And you really think he’s going to speak up for us? You really think he’s going to report one of his family friends like that? Huh?”

Weasley goes silent. He puts his head in hands.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Harry scoffs. “Fuck. Let’s just focus on getting out of here first.”

XXX

Harry and Ron are still wet by the time they reach their dorm. Luckily, no one catches them on the way there. Weasley automatically falls into bed but Harry starts to strip down. That’s when he catches Draco watching him, pretending to be asleep.

Harry feels a crown of thorns wrap itself around his heart. He scoffs. “You’re fucking pathetic, Malfoy.”

That gets Draco to stop pretending to be asleep. He sits up in bed, glaring daggers at Harry.

“Oh, really? So you would’ve done something if someone had taken me, Black? Really?”

_Yes._ The thought is instantaneous.

“No.” Harry says instead, looking away.

Draco scoffs. “See? Don’t act like I owe you anything, Black. I don’t.”

XXX

The next day Harry wakes up and finds his satchel empty. He automatically corners Draco, eyes narrowed.

“What did you do with my things, Malfoy?”

Draco gapes at him. “Me? Why do you automatically assume I did it? Why not Weasley? Or Nott?”

Across the room, Weasley throws his satchel to the ground. He’s fuming. “It can’t be me, because someone’s taken my supplies as well.” Weasley glares at Draco. “Hand it over, Malfoy.”

“Of course. Of _course_ you blame me,” Draco mutters darkly. “Well, if you want to know the _truth_,” Draco spits out, glaring at the both of them, “one of the guys who were in our room the other night emptied out both your bags.”

Nott looks up, disgruntled. “There were people in our room last night?”

“What the fuck, Draco?” Harry snaps. “And you didn’t do anything?”

“Like I told you yesterday, Black,” Draco sneers, pressing his face close to Harry’s. “I don’t owe you anything. And I certainly don’t owe you my _life_.”

Harry pushes Draco away. “Get out of my face.” He sneers.

“Gladly.” Draco snaps back. “I was going to go meet Aamir anyway.”

Harry groans, puts his head in his hands. “Oh my _god_. It’s like you can’t _NOT_ mention your boyfriend for one second. It’s driving me _insane_.”

Draco’s porcelain face immediately flushes. “What are you talking about? This is the first time I’ve mentioned him all day!”

“Yeah and you just barely woke up.” Harry snaps back, suddenly in a foul mood. “Is he like the first thing you think about? There are more important things in the world, Draco. Children in America are dying of obesity.”

“What do I care about the children in America?” Draco sneers. “I hate Americans. They’re tasteless and entirely too forward.”

“There you go again, making _everything_ about you-“

Across the room Nott groans. “Merlin and Morgana is this how it’s going to be _every_ day? I’m going to off myself soon if you two keep it up.”

“Do it then!” Draco snaps. “No one asked you to take Aamir’s spot in our dorm.”

“Morgana’s tits Aamir really _is _all you think about, isn’t he?” Nott says looking at him incredulously.

“That’s what I’m _saying_-“

“You two are obviously brain dead.” Draco sneers. “I’m heading to potions. If you’re late, Snape is going to have your head - that is - if you have anything in there.”

With one last glare, Draco spins on his heel and walks out the door in a huff.

Nott locks eyes with Harry.

“Shit, he’s right. We should hurry up.”

XXX

Harry, Theo and Ron are all late to potions. By the time they enter class has already started and Draco smirks at them from the table he shares with Aamir. When Aamir sees Harry, he smiles as well.

The professor is the only one not smiling.

He had a hooked nose, and greasy black hair, and his face has the same pallid color a corpse would have. Not the porcelain white of Draco’s, but rather the pasty white of expired cheese. Harry also notices that this is one of the people that was watching him at the sorting.

“Late on the first day of class, Theodore?” Professor Snape says coolly. Nott stiffens. “That’s not what I would’ve expected from you. I must say I’m disappointed. Sit down, please.”

Nott quickly scampers over to sit beside Zabini. That leaves Harry and Ron. Snape’s cold eyes turn to focus on Weasley.

“I must say I did expect _you_ to be late to class, Weasley. What are you still doing standing in those horrible hand me down clothes?” He snaps. “Sit down.”

This time it’s Ron’s turn to run over to an empty seat. And now it’s only Harry standing, every eye in the class fixed on him. You could hear a pin drop.

Something ugly passes through Snape’s eyes so quickly Harry thinks he’s imagining it. He assumes he is.

“Aries…_Black_.”

That’s all. That’s all the professor says. He stares down at Harry but Harry only stares back, unperturbed. Does he expect him to fidget? Does he expect him to wilt like a flower in front of him? Harry has faced worse than Snape.

Snape chuckles, but he doesn’t seem amused. “What obstinance. What total lack of respect you show, Black. You have nothing to say to me, your head of house? Nothing to excuse your behavior?”

“With all due respect, sir,” Harry replies, voice as smooth as silk, “Nott and Weasley had nothing to say and you didn’t call _them_ out.”

“So you’re telling me if your peers can get away with something, you should get away with it too?” Snape’s eyes narrow. “How arrogant of you Mr. Black. Sit down, please. You have taken up enough of this classes time with your dramatics.”

Harry grinds his teeth together, but doesn’t say anything. His dramatics? _His_ dramatics? More like Snape’s dramatics. Did he really have to make a show of reprimanding him?

Harry slides into the seat next to Weasley’s just as Snape starts talking again.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Harry rolls his eyes, “there will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science of the potion making. However, for those of you who possess the pre-disposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses; I can tell you how to brew glory, bottle fame, and even stopper death. Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel comfortable enough to not pay attention...Mr. Black.”

Harry feels his jaw twitch. What now?

“Yes, sir?” He asks, faux polite.

“I notice you aren’t taking notes. Am I boring you in some way? Is the information I’m so graciously sharing with you somehow not up to your speed?”

_Shit._ “I’m sorry professor Snape but someone took all my supplies this morning.”

“_Took?_” Snape raises his eyebrow. “How wonderfully convenient, a situation which takes all of the blame off your shoulders. Are you sure you don’t mean _lost?”_

_Patience, Harry. Patience._ “I’m sure. Someone robbed me last night while I was sleeping.” _Not to mention I see you’re not grilling the Weasel and he’s not taking notes either,_ Harry thinks bitterly to himself.

“What a stupidly bold lie, Mr. Black.” Snape smiles thinly. “Tell me, Black, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Across the room, Granger raises her hand. Snape ignores her. Harry’s nails dig into his palms. “I don’t know.” He replies quietly.

At the table right next to his, Draco snickers. Harry’s nails draw blood.

“I thought my class wasn’t up to your level, Black?” Snape says, faux incredulous. “Fine then. I’ll give you an easier one. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione Granger twitches in her seat. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask Granger?”

“I’m not asking Granger I’m asking you.” Snape says coldly.

Harry thinks to himself, _fuck this_. “Yeah well, it’s pretty obvious I don’t know, and that you know I don’t know, and that the next question you ask I won’t know, so why don’t you just stop and tell me what this is all about?”

Across the room, Malfoy gapes at him. In fact, the whole class seems to be shocked by his response. Including Snape.

‘What this is all about?’ Snape repeats, eyes narrowed. “Mr. Black, I have no idea what kind of tom-foolery runs around in that head of yours but I am simply asking you a question, one I expect you to answer as my student.”

Harry scoffs. “Yeah right. You’ve obviously had it in for me since I walked in the door.”

“Had it in for you?” Snape repeats again, eyes angry now. “How egoistical of you, Mr. Black, to assume I have any kind of personal vendetta against you. What, for simply walking through my door late? I assure you, you have no such importance in my mind, and as for your actions, and the tone you take with me now, that I do have a problem with. Your complete disregard for authority reminds me of another person I knew, a certain Sirius O. Black. What is that aphorism muggles use again…like father...like _son?”_

Harry can’t help it: he laughs. _Annnnnd_ there it is. The part of Aries everyone has a problem with. Sirius. “You’re so full of it. I knew you had something against me. I should’ve known it was my father.”

“What did you just say?” Snape’s voice holds a warning.

Harry sneers. “I said you’re so. Fucking. Full of it. You think because my father was a death eater, you can treat me like trash? Because he did all this sick shit, you can punish me for it? I expect that kind of stupid ignorance from my classmates, but I don’t expect it from a bloody teacher.”

“How dare you.” Snape says quietly. “How. Dare. _You._” Snape sneers at him, his tone as cold as a breeze that could freeze hell. “You dare use such crass words in my class, then go onto accuse me of something so vile as to attack a student for such a petty and inconsequential reason? Let me tell you something about your father, Black. You remind me of him. He too was also a nasty little boy and severely incompetent student. He too was arrogant and prideful to an impudent degree, and what’s worse he was a mentally disturbed individual that caused the death of not all, but most of his best friends. And you want to know what else, Black?” Snape says, black eyes glinting dangerously in the light. “His animagus – that is to say his animal form – was a dog. A scrawny, mangey little mutt that licked at his own arsehole and ate the fleas that lived on his body. That’s what your father was. A dog. Is that what you are?”

Harry hears his breathing get heavy, feels his vision go red. All he can think about is all the times people have called him a dog. All the times people have treated him like one. He thinks of Dudley, telling him to go fetch, calling him a mangey mutt. Draco’s snide face saying _“you eat like a dog and act like a dog—you can only **be** a dog.”_ All the times he was given scraps to eat. All the times he had to beg for those scraps. All the times Vernon Dursley didn’t outright say, but treated him like a dog. Fed him like a dog. Expected him to be at his beck and call like a dog, and finally – how he beat him like a dog. How he beat him so hard Harry was howling for mercy.

“I’m not a dog.” Harry mutters under his breath, broken fingernails digging into the splinters in his palm, still there from yesterday, but in his head Harry is thinking, is asking himself, _am I a dog? Is that way everyone treats me like this? Is that why I was attacked last night? Because they think I’ll roll over? Because they think my life is worthless? Because it **is** worthless? Because I’m a dog and my life is dispensable, insignificant?_

Snape raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Harry feels an anger like lightning crash into his body. His head snaps up and his blue eyes are as dark as the sky during a storm.

“I’m not a **_fucking_** dog!” He yells, and three flasks that had been under heating charms simultaneously explode into a million pieces. Kids scream and duck under their tables. Professor Snape’s attention is instantly diverted to containing whatever liquids are spilling out, his back turned, and Harry is thinking to himself, _I can do more, I can do worst than that, I can seriously hurt him-_

But then there is a hand on his wrist and before he knows it he’s being pulled out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who saved ron and harry??  
here's a hint: it wasn't draco :)))


	7. Alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao none of yall guessed draco

Draco had thought it was funny at first. As expected, all three of his roommates had gotten late to class. As expected, they had all gotten grilled by his godfather, professor Snape. And even funnier was that for some reason Harry was the one getting grilled most of all! It was perfect. It was karma.

And then it just became cruel.

Draco had never seen Snape act this way. Snape was a even tempered, cold, disinterested individual. He had nothing he was passionate about - at least not in the way others seemed to show their passions in uncontrollable emotion – and there seemed to be nothing he loved or especially hated.

But whatever happened in the classroom, Draco recognized the look. It was hatred. Hatred so precise and focused it ought to be a diamond lattice, an impenetrable and impassible. It was a hard thing to watch. For Draco to see his godfather become so unraveled, to be so wildly inappropriate as to reply to Harry in such a degrading way, and for what? Because Harry had talked back? Draco was 100 percent sure a student had talked back to Snape in the past. He was also 100 percent sure this was the only time Snape had replied back in such a manner.

But most of all, Draco knew talking that way to Harry was dangerous. Calling him a dog. Degrading him, mocking him, mentioning his biggest weak spot, Sirius. All of those were ingredients in the ticking time bomb that was Harry Potter. And call Draco crazy, but he didn’t particularly feel like witnessing a murder today, so when he saw Potter looking at Snape like he was going to tear his spine straight out of his body, Draco knew it was time to intervene.

He stood up from his chair, ignoring Aamir’s probing eyes, to go grab Harry by the hand and pull him out of the classroom. When they’re outside Draco turns to face Harry, an irritated expression on his face, but Harry is looking down at the floor. Draco immediately lays into him.

“Are you bloody _mental_, Harry? Did you seriously have to explode those three flasks? What if something dangerous had been in them, what then? You would’ve just accidentally **_killed_** someone! You need to learn to control whatever the bloody hell is wrong with you!”

Draco waits for Harry to look up, to reply, but there is just silence. Harry’s shoulders are trembling, and his hands curled into fists, and that’s when Draco realizes, _uh oh, maybe I should take a step back, this is not going to be good-_

But when Harry finally looks up it isn’t anger he sees. It’s tears.

Draco can’t do anything but stare.

“Everyone thinks…I’m a fucking dog.” He hiccups, voice scratchy, biting down on his lip hard as if to prevent a sob from escaping. “Everyone. People that don’t even know me,” he hiccups, “think I’m a dog. It’s not enough that growing up I had to be treated like one…that I had to eat the food that nobody wanted to eat…that I had to starve like some stray on the street…that nobody loved me…**_no_**. That’s not enough. No, you have to, h-have to call me a dog, in front everyone, in front of **_EVERYONE_**-“

Harry breaks off from whatever he was going to say. “UGHHH!” He screams instead, sounding like somethings being torn out of him, fingernails digging into his hand, and then he starts banging his head against the wall behind him violently, saying-

_“im not a fucking dog im not a fucking dog im not a fucking dog im **NOT A FUCKING DOG-“**_

And all Draco can do is stare, speechless, horrified, thinking_, this is so messed up, this is so **bloody** messed up-_

“Bloody hell, stop it, Black!” Draco grabs Harry by the wrists and pulls him away from the wall, making sure he can’t keep hitting himself. That’s when he realizes Harry’s hands are bleeding, that he’d been digging in so hard with his nails he drew blood. Draco lets go of him instantly. He feels like his world’s been flipped upside down, been distorted, been twisted into this ugly thing. Draco suddenly has an image of the bird he tried to save when he was a kid, the broken wing, and his father, most of all his father saying-

_“-useless, a useless and insensible act. By stopping to try and save that weak thing, you yourself show weakness, weakness, WEAKNESS-“_

And Draco can only think, _shit, shit, this isn’t something I can fix, I can’t fix this, I can’t fix **him-**_

“Harry…” Draco starts warily, “you’re not a dog. Don’t-Don’t do this to yourself. What you’re doing is messed up. What you’re doing is _wrong_-“

“I’m not a dog?” Harry asks quietly. He looks up at Draco. He’s no longer crying, but his face is a mess. His eyes are red, and his cheeks are wet, and his face is a blotchy pink. There’s also blood on his lip but it’s nothing compared to the blood on his hands.

The question seems like a trap, but Draco answers anyway. He reaches for Harry’s hand when he sees it start to curl into itself again. _No way. You’re not doing that again, psycho_. “Harry,” he says cautiously, “of course you’re not a dog. How could you be a dog when-“

“But you called me a dog.”

Draco feels like the air has gone out of his lungs. “What?” He asks faintly.

Harry’s eyes are focused now, no longer wild with emotion. They’re more calculated. It seems he’s calmed down.

“Yeah. Don’t you remember? When I stayed at your house that summer? ‘You act like a dog, you eat like a dog – you can only be a fucking dog?’ Don’t you remember saying that?

“I don’t-don’t remember that-“ he stutters, feels the weight of Harry’s gaze, cold and assessing.

But the thing is Draco does remember. He remembers and it makes him sick. He remembers not only saying it to Harry’s face, but thinking it constantly. Comparing him to a dog with rabies in his mind because of his appearance, and the wild form in which he acted. Saying it and not thinking of the way Harry might feel about it, not thinking about they way it might hurt, when it should’ve been so obvious. Nobody likes to be degraded in that way.

Harry presses close to Draco, and Draco looks away. He stares at Draco for a bit, before backing off and saying-

“Yeah, I think you do remember. You do remember, Draco, don’t you? So don’t pretend you’re not one of them. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking exactly what Snape thinks. I know you, Draco.” Harry says coldly. “You can’t fool me.”

Then Harry is yanking his hand out of Draco's, leaving him all alone in the hall.

XXX

Harry’s eating lunch in the Great Hall when all of a sudden someone sits down next to him.

“Hey.”

It’s Weasley. Harry doesn’t bother to look at him when he replies. “Hey.”

They eat in silence for a couple of minutes while Weasley squirms in the sit besides him, obviously having something to say, but not saying it. When Harry finally gets sick of his incessant tapping he snaps.

“Spit it out, then.”

Weasley blinks. “Huh? Oh-“

“Want to give some wise crack comment about potions? Want to call me a dog? Go on then.” Harry sneers. “Have a laugh. Warning though, you might lose all of your teeth after you do.”

“What? No!” Weasley’s face flushes. “I was just going to say – Snape’s a right prat for saying all that about you in class. That’s all.”

Harry blinks, feels the sneer fall right off his face. “Oh.” He replies dumbly, pushes around the food on his plate blindly. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“You all talking about Professor Snape?” Nott says, sliding into the table with Zabini besides him, both carrying plates towering with food. “Talk about the world’s biggest git – and the ugliest. Oh sure he can _‘brew glory, bottle fame, and even stopper death,’_” Nott says in an overly dramatic voice, “but can he take a shower?” Harry and Ron both burst into laughter. “That I think, is the _true_ question everyone should be asking.”

From four spots down the table Draco Malfoy stands up indignantly.

“Merlin, Nott, you are so bloody immature!” He snaps. “Professor Snape is an accomplished potions master and-“

Harry locks eyes with Draco and Draco visibly pales.

“-and-and-YEAH!” He splutters, sitting down immediately.

Nott scoffs. “Of course. Leave it to Malfoy to side with the prat. I’ve never liked Snape, you know?” Nott says speaking directly to Harry. “I grew up with him, mind you. He runs in the same social circles. And he’s Malfoy’s godfather.” Nott snorts. “And no wonder, too. They’re both condescending, snobbish, insufferable prats.”

“You can say that again,” Harry mutters, stabbing at a grape on his plate with his fork.

“Draco Malfoy is a snobbish, insufferable, prat!” Nott yells, and everyone at the table laughs, while Draco throws an apple at Nott’s head.

Harry’s laughter dies in his throat, however, when he sees a familiar face sit down at the other end of the table. Inconspicuously, Harry elbows Ron, who gives him a questioning glance before Harry nods his head to the left. When Ron catches sight of the blonde haired boy, he immediately pales.

_Anton._

Besides him are two other people. One Indian looking boy and the other-

_Prefect Park?_

“What the fuck?” Harry mutters under his breath.

Nott looks up from his food. “Huh? Did you say something?”

“Uh-no.” Harry grabs Ron’s wrist, pulling them both from the table. “We got to go, talk to you later, Nott, Zabini.”

“What in the bloody hell?” Ron hisses in his ear, trying to remove his hand from Harry’s grip. “Where are you taking us?”

“To talk to someone who might actually know who the hell Anton is.” Harry hisses back. “No first year is going to know, and it’s not like any older Slytherins are going to talk us.”

“Oh yeah? And who – _oh, no_.” Ron groans when he sees where Harry’s leading them. “Hufflepuff? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” Harry replies dryly.

After his disastrous birthday party, Alex Shafiq had told him if he ever needed anything when he came to Hogwarts, that Harry could find him in Hufflepuff. Sure enough, as they pulled up to the Hufflepuff table, Harry could see Alex sitting with the fourth years, obviously in the middle of a very exciting story if his constantly moving hands were any indication.

“-And the next time professor Sprout looked over they were all gone!”

The whole table bursts into laughter and Harry finds that as his cue to tap Alex on the shoulder.

Alex turns around and breaks into a grin. “Aries! I feel like it’s been forever! How’s Hogwarts been treating you? Actually – scratch that – how’s _Slytherin_ been treating you?”

The table has noticeably become quieter since Harry arrived, and a quick glance behind Alex shows a bunch of hostile faces looking back at him. Harry looks back at Alex. He puts on a fake smile.

“Good, good.” He lies. “But I actually have something to-“

“And who might this be?” Alex says, head pointing to Ron.

“Oh, uh-“ Ron blinks, startled. “Ronald. Weasley.”

Recognition sparks in Alex’s eyes. “Weasley? As in George and Fred Weasley?”

Ron visibly sours. He picks at his nail. “Yeah.” He replies dully. “George and Fred are my brothers.”

Alex is noticeably impressed. “Whoa, badass-“

“Yo, Alex,” a boy calls out, “why don’t you knock that death eater out of our table, yeah?”

Harry’s jaw twitches. Alex immediately stiffens, before his expression turns mean and his eyes narrow to slits.

“Yo, Barkley,” he mimics, tone mocking, “why don’t you shut that dumpster trash of a mouth before I shut it for you, yeah?”

Barkley flushes as the rest of the table looks around uncomfortably. Alex turns back to face them.

“Hey, let’s bounce, yeah? Don’t want you getting more shit from these guys.” Alex rubs a nervous hand through his hair.

Harry shrugs. “That’s fine with me.”

Once they’re out in the hallway, Alex finds an empty classroom where they can talk.

“So what’s up?”

“Do you know Anton? From Slytherin? Big looking bloke, blonde, blue eyes-?”

Alex scrunches his eyes, thinking. “Anton, Anton, Anton-“

Alex’s eyes go wide with recognition. “Fuck.” He curses. “Anton Muller? Sixth year? Number one fan of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

Harry and Ron lock eyes. That doesn’t sound good.

“Yeah.” Harry replies warily. “You know him?”

Alex whistles. “I don’t know him but I know _of_ him. He’s like, what, two years older than me? When I first came to Hogwarts I heard horror stories about him. He was like the bloody boogey man. Rumor has it his father died for Voldemort. His _grandpa_ died for Grindelwald. He went to Durmstrang for his first year but apparently he used some super dark magic and got kicked out. And Durmstrang is _known _for dark magic. No other school wanted to take him but Anton’s mother gave a bunch of money to Hogwarts and that’s how he got in.”

Ron scoffs disbelievingly. “Oh, yeah? So he bribed his way in? No way Dumbledore would allow that.”

Alex holds up his hands. “Hey, mate, that’s just what I heard. I don’t know if it’s true. Personally, I’ve never talked to the bloke.” Alex shivers. “And I don’t intend to.”

“Does Anton have any friends?” Harry asks.

“Friends?” Alex raises an eyebrow. “Hmmm friends…yeah.” Alex gives a dry smile. “I guess he does. If you consider lackeys friends.”

“Do you know their names?”

Alex scratches at his chin. “One of them is Shivani Banerjee. People call him Shiv. Don’t really know much about him other than the fact that he’s a rich pureblood heir. Other than that, he pretty much keeps to himself. His other friend though-“

“Jae-hee Park?” Harry can’t help but cut in.

Alex looks at him oddly. “Yeah. Nobody calls him Jae-hee, though, just Jay. He’s pretty popular and he’s a prefect so he has a lot of authority. Everyone thinks he’s a shoe-in for Head Boy next year.”

‘_Anton. That’s enough.’_

Harry grinds his teeth. That voice. He knew that voice sounded familiar. It was because it was prefect Park. But what in the world is a prefect doing bullying two first years? Because he’s afraid of Anton? But he’s a _prefect. He’s_ the one with the power, not Anton.

“Why do you ask anyway?”

Harry fibs effortlessly. “Muller talked to Ron here about joining some kind of pureblood club. We were just curious who he was.”

But Alex isn’t so easily convinced. “Really? He was thinking about letting a blood traitor join his club?” Alex glances at Ron. “No offense.”

Ron shrugs. “None taken.”

“Well, he’s German, obviously.” Harry lies again. “I doubt he knows a lot about British blood traitors.”

Alex stares hard at Harry. “Fair enough. Still, you know if you need anything you can just ask me, right?”

Harry smiles. “Of course.”

XXX

“We are so fucked,” is the first thing Ron says once Alex has left the room.

“Shut up.” Harry snaps.

Ron looks at him incredulously. “What, you think we aren’t? I’m just stating the facts here.”

“I think we should form an alliance.”

Ron blinks. “What?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t like me but we have to have each other’s backs. No one else is going to. And it’s not like we’re all that different.”

“Excuse me?” Ron’s eyes narrow. “My father wasn’t a death eater.”

Harry ignores the urge to dig his fingernails into his palm.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says through gritted teeth. “I just mean were both not pureblood. This whole thing will be easier if we have each other to rely on.”

Ron looks at Harry’s hand warily. “Okay. I agree. But that doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

_Who said I wanted to be your friend?_

Harry smiles, ignores the sneer that wants to tear its way onto his face.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know that scene in euphoria where nate and his dad fight and nate starts banging his head on the floor? yeah, im talking that level of head banging.


	8. Flying Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beeen a while huh? updates are gonna be slow from now on, cuz i have some WIPs, and this work has the longest chapters out of all of them, so im always like ehhhhhhh
> 
> but i also love yall and would never give up this work so plz stay with me!!!

“Snape is absolutely brilliant.” Is the first thing Aamir says to him as they walk to their next class.

“Hm?”

“That stuff he said in class about Aries? Hilarious and so, _so_ true. It’s pathetic how everyone around here walks eggshells around him because his father was this psychotic murderer. Sirius Black was a piece of trash. Aries Black is a piece of trash. And no one should be afraid to say it.”

“Oh,” Draco replies weakly, “yeah…”

“And he doesn’t even care about the fact that he’s a teacher, doesn’t care about the fact that Dumbledore definitely won’t like it, because he’s not afraid to _speak his mind_. Bloody brilliant.” Says Aamir with glorified eyes.

“Uh…definitely.”

Aamir breaks out of his trance to turn his sharp gaze on Draco.

“What?” He says suspiciously. “You don’t agree with me?”

“Huh! No, I totally agree with you, one hundred percent-!”

“So you don’t agree with me.” Aamir replies flatly. “You’re doing that thing where your voice goes all high pitched. It’s a dead give-away.”

Draco gives a long drawn out sigh. “I just think he went a little too far. It was funny at first and then it was just…ugly.”

“Ugly?” Aamir asks incredulously. “That, in the potions classroom, was ugly?”

Draco eyes Aamir warily.

“What about my face, huh?” Aamir replies furiously. He turns to face Draco head on. Jabs a finger at his right eye. “What about what he did to _me?_ That’s not ugly?” He sneers, mouth twisted like barbed wire.

“Aamir…” Draco whispers.

Though the scar cutting through Aamir’s eye is no longer an ugly red, it’s still there. It runs from the top of his eyebrow down to his cheek, thick and slightly puckered, color off from the rest of his skin. It’s glaringly obvious and not at all something you can hide.

“I’m not saying what he did was right.” Draco says gently. “But isn’t that going heal soon anyway?”

Aamir turns away from him. Draco doesn’t know what kind of face he’s making when he says-

“Ms. Pomfrey said I came in too late. ‘Cus of the bloody train. The scar is permanent.”

It feels like a blow to chest. Draco’s heart almost misses a beat from the shock.

“_What the_ – why didn’t you tell me?!”

Aamir turns back to face him. He gives Draco a wry smile. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Snape treated Aries like shit, and more people are going to treat him like shit, because of his father, and because of who he is. This school is going to be hell for him. And that’s the least of what he deserves.”

XXX

Draco hadn’t wanted the conversation to end there. But then Pansy showed up and so did Crabbe and Goyle and then it wasn’t really appropriate to bring up “_hey why in the bloody hell didn’t you tell me it was permanent?” _and “_maybe you wanna chill out a bit on Aries because he can kill you_?” especially when the mood of the conversation was now-

“Ugh, Millicent is _such_ a toad, I swear.”

Draco is still staring at Aamir in shock as she says this. Pansy pinches him on the arm for not paying attention to her.

“I said,” she continues, now quite obviously miffed, “that Milly is a toad.”

_Translation: ask me why Milly is a toad_

“Oh – and – uh, why is that…?” Draco manages to splutter out vaguely.

“Forget it, Draco.” She snaps. She flips her hair back in a huff. “You are obviously concentrated on other things. Most likely showing off on the pitch today, I’m sure.” Pansy says rolling her eyes.

“The pitch?” Draco asks stupidly.

Pansy stares at him. She raises a hand to his forehead. “Are you alright? We’re going to our flying lessons, remember? With the Gryffindors, again, Merlin save us. Have you seen that Dean Thomas kid? I was only just playfully teasing Longbottom during potions and he snapped at me. He’s just so very rude.” Pansy sniffs.

“What did he say to you?” Asks Aamir.

“Well, he only asked me if I could be quiet,” she replies grudgingly, “but the way he said it was quite ugly, mind you.” Pansy huffs in indignant anger. Then she loops her arm through Draco’s, makes her face sweeter.

“You’ll show him, won’t you, Coco?”

The horrendous nickname breaks him out of his fugue state. “How many times have I told you not to call me that, Pansy?” He snarls. “I’m not a lapdog.”

Pansy’s face sours, and she pulls her arm out of Draco’s.

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Grumpkins.” Pansy scowls. “I just thought, as the best flyer that’s going to be on the pitch today, you would show him up. Apparently not though. Maybe _Dean Thomas_ will be the best flyer on the pitch. Maybe _he’ll _show you up.” She replies snobbishly.

Draco’s annoyance pitches straight through the roof. Pansy only has two modes: wonderfully dramatic and infuriatingly dramatic. Currently she is the latter.

“Dean Thomas will show me up?” Draco says incredulously. “_Dean Thomas?_ Dean Thomas wouldn’t even know a broom if it went right up his arse,” Draco spits out. “I’m loads better than Dean Thomas.” He sneers.

_Who the hell is Dean Thomas?_

“Do you even know who Dean Thomas is?” Aamir asks blandly.

“Of course I do,” Draco splutters indignantly. “Itty bitty little thing from Gryffindor, built like a twig,” he fibs, “as pale as last month’s rotten milk.”

Aamir snorts. Pansy giggles.

“What?” Draco asks heatedly. “Think he’s better than me, do you? Think a twig could fly better than me?”

Pansy immediately switches into her mothering mode. “Oh, darling, of course not,” she coos, trying to comfort him. “Remember that summer at Zabini’s? When you raced Theo and he hit a tree because you were so good?”

If Pansy thinks it’s going to be that easy, she’s got another thing coming. Draco stays silent.

“Or how about that time you caught the snitch before, Aamir?” She tries again.

“It was ten times, actually.” Draco replies grudgingly.

Aamir rolls his eyes. Pansy smiles. “Of course it was, darling. See? You’re a natural on the broom.”

“Well,” Draco replies, puffing his chest out a bit, “I must admit my father barely had to teach me anything before I was in the air.”

They’re out on the pitch already heading to the Slytherin side. Nott hears this and snorts.

“Daddy Malfoy _barely_ had to teach you anything?” Nott sneers. “Utter crockpot. Last year at Millicent’s birthday party you cried because she put a slug on you. You’d probably wet your trousers before ever willingly riding a broom.” Zabini, Weasley, and even _Potter_ are at his side. They all laugh.

_Since when did they become best mates?_

Draco ignores everyone but Nott.

“Oh come now, Nott.” Draco drawls haughtily. “I’m not the one who flew straight into a tree. Or do you not remember?” He smiles pleasantly.

“Yeah,” Pansy adds, glaring daggers at Nott. “Draco could fly circles around you any day.”

Pansy intervening only serves to infuriate Theo more. “Shut up, Pansy. You’re only saying that because you want to be his girlfriend.” Nott smirks. “Pity Draco is already Shafiq’s girlfriend.”

Pansy’s face colors and so does Draco’s. Before Pansy can whip out her claws, Draco intervenes on her behalf.

“Wow,” Draco replies calmly, willing his face to go down to a more normal color, “I had no idea you were still jealous about that, Nott.”

Theo’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“You still want Pansy to be your girlfriend, after all these years?” Draco ponders dramatically, before brightening his eyes as if he’s had an ah-ha moment, “or wait, that’s not quite right, wasn’t it-?”

“Say one more word and you’re dead, Malfoy.” Theo says, deadly calm, but his brown eyes are burning coals.

Draco shuts his mouth. As much as he’d like to tease Theo more, he knows Nott is serious. It’s a very touchy subject for him, and Draco has no desire to wind up in the infirmary. Still, he’s seething, and he has no outlet for his anger.

That is, until that absolute knob Longbottom falls off his broom and forgets his remembrall.

Draco feels a lazy smirk grace his lips.

“Look what that cabbage Longbottom left behind.”

XXX

Harry and Ron walk to the pitch together after talking with Alex. They get in line next to Nott and Zabini and Harry’s mind is still on the Anton situation when he hears a familiar prattish drawl.

“-father _barely_ had to teach me anything before I was in the air.” Draco Malfoy brags insolently.

It’s enough to break Harry out of the anxiousness he feels about his situation. Instead, he now feels annoyed at the smug look that’s plastered on Malfoy’s face. When Draco picks up Neville’s Remembrall, it is the last straw on his utter shite day.

“Look what that cabbage Longbottom left behind.” He drawls arrogantly, holding the Remembrall up in the air like a trophy, and everybody in Slytherin laughs, some Gryffindor’s even laughing as well. It only serves to make Draco look smugger, his smile as fat as the cat that got the cream.

_God, he is so annoying. Why doesn’t anyone else see it?_

“What do you reckon Longbottom needs remembering, hmm?” Draco asks the Slytherins, his eyes glinting maliciously in the daylight.

“I reckon he needs remembering what his own name is.” Parkinson says snottily, and Draco laughs, the sound like bells, and that grates on Harry’s nerves even more, that he can laugh in such a pretty way while saying such nasty things.

“No way, Pansy.” Draco says, eyes mock incredulous. “It must be something of _much_ more importance. Like remembering to pick up his nappys so he doesn’t pee his bed at night like the _widdle_ baby he is.”

Cue the laughter. Draco looks extremely pleased. Harry is seething. It’s not like he likes Longbottom either, the boy really is a baby. But for Draco to pick on someone so defenseless like that, someone who’s not even worth picking on, someone who isn’t even here, who can’t defend themselves, is just _so_ Draco that it sets Harry’s teeth on edge. Draco only picks on people weaker than him. He only picks on people when he knows he’s safe to do it, when he can’t get in trouble for it, or when the other person isn’t there, and it’s such a weasel little move that it strikes a fierce anger in Harry’s blood.

And Harry isn’t the only one who’s annoyed. Across from him Harry can see that Dean boy getting cross as well, his eyes narrowing, about to say something, but Harry takes the chance from him.

Draco’s making some other wise crack, his hand still raised with the Remembrall still high in the air, his back to Harry as he caters to his audience, when Harry snatches it from his grasp.

Draco whips around, glaring.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He seethes quietly.

Harry only smirks, holding the Remembrall high in the air. Draco reaches for it, and Harry yanks his hand back, Draco almost tripping over himself in the fumble to get it.

Snickers from both Slytherin and Gryffindor. Draco’s face flushes.

“Give it back!” he snaps, but Harry only grins lazily.

Draco reaches for it again, and this time Harry throws it to Ron.

Ron smiles spitefully. Harry has to keep from laughing at the pure rage on Draco’s face.

Draco marches over to where Ron is only for Ron to throw it to Nott. Nott grins, dangles the Remembrall over his head.

“Come on, pup, you can do it! You can do it! Jump, pup, jump!”

Draco is grinding his teeth together. It’s hard to look cool when you’re chasing a ball around and you can’t manage to get it. Draco reaches for the ball, and Nott pulls his hand back. Nott dangles it once more.

“Come on, pup.” He croons.

Draco jumps, almost takes Nott by surprise, but he still doesn’t quite manage to get it.

Nott laughs incredulously. “You really did jump! Such a _good_ little pet ~ “ Nott croons again, and now everyone is laughing, laughing at the pathetic sight that is Draco Malfoy, who can’t do anything but shake his head angrily as Nott tries to pet him, that is, until Aamir steps out of line.

“That’s enough.” He says calmly, bronze eyes dark.

The laughs die off. Harry watches in disgust as Draco looks at Aamir like he’s his own personal God. Nott’s still laughing.

“Oh come on, Shafiq,” Nott says, eyes warm as if they’re friends, “Draco was asking for it!”

“Asking for you to make an utter prat of yourself? I don’t think so,” he says, tone still deceptively neutral. “I think you did that all yourself.”

Nott’s eyes shutter. Shafiq’s words seem to take the wind out of his sails. Harry forgets that he admires him. Nott’s about to drop the ball back into Draco’s hands when Harry snatches it away again.

“Are you serious right now?” Aamir asks, eyes darkening even further, if that’s even possible at this point. But apparently it is, at least when it comes to Harry.

“Are _you _serious right now, scarface?” Harry asks right back at him, and he takes pleasure in the way Aamir flinches at the moniker. The scar Vito gave him hasn’t disappeared in the slightest. It’s an angry slash across his right eye, and it’s ugly. Harry wonders what his precious pretty Draco has to say about it. Nothing positive no doubt. If there’s one thing Draco is, it’s vain. Harry wonders how long it is before Aamir gets thrown out like yesterday’s trash. “We’re just messing around. Having a little _fun_.” He sneers. “Last I checked Draco is a big boy. He should be able to handle his own.” Harry pauses, and raises an eyebrow. “Unless I’m wrong?”

Harry has put Aamir in a situation where defending Draco will make Draco look bad. Where it will embarrass him. Harry knows Aamir catches on to this because there is a spark of anger in his eyes, and even though he opens his mouth to say something biting, he quickly closes it shut after locking eyes with Draco, who shakes his head in a clear no.

“Aamir did nothing wrong.” Draco snaps, obviously annoyed, but trying to reign it in. “To be perfectly honest, your brand of fun is…_immature_.” Draco replies distastefully. “Holding something someone else wants over their heads…are we still in our nappy’s? Because I can assure you I am _not_.”

Ugly laughter at that, and Harry can’t help but grit his teeth.

_Oh so I’m immature for taking the Remembrall from you, but you talking behind Neville’s back isn’t? Bloody hypocrite._

Still, he forces a smile on his face, lets the insult just slide over him.

“Well – since you find my games to be so immature – how about a better one? How about, if you catch me on my broom, you get the Remembrall back?”

Harry grins while Draco watches him warily.

“Do you even know how to fly, half-blood?”

Harry makes a false incredulous face. “I grew up with purebloods! How could I not?” He lies. “Either way – you don’t have anything to lose here. What was it you said before?” Harry makes a thoughtful face. “Oh, that’s right!” He grins tauntingly. “Your father _barely_ had to teach you anything before you were up in the air, flying like a pro.” Harry frowns in mock concern. “Unless that was a lie?”

Draco flashes him a wide, sickeningly false smile. “I don’t lie, Black. So why don’t you get up on that broom and test me?”

Harry smiles back, equally as fake. “Gladly.”

And faster than an blink of an eye, he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. yeah, aamirs gonna have that scar forever :/
> 
> 2\. more nott vs draco heh
> 
> 3\. more harry vs aamir heHE
> 
> 4\. also (shameless self promotion here) if u like thorki u should read my other works :)
> 
> 5\. most important - giMMME loveee
> 
> ps- sorry for the weird formatting ao3 always fucks it up and i didnt feel like changing it :/


	9. Nose Dive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> er random update i guess? dont expect much in the coming weeks bc i have finals
> 
> BUT- soon its going to be december and imma have a whole month off of school so you know what that means!! hehe

“Dirty cheat!” Draco cries up at Harry’s retreating figure. He readies his broom to fly up in the air as well when a hand on his arm stops him. It’s Pansy with anxious eyes.

“Draco don’t be stupid!” She hisses. “If Madam Hooch catches you flying when she comes back you’re going to be in loads of trouble. Let Black make a fool of himself. When Madam Hooch comes back we can say he was trying to hide the Remembrall from Neville. Double trouble for him, and a win for us.”

_Spoken like a true Slytherin_, Draco thinks to himself. But it’s not enough. Harry has challenged him a front of the whole class. If Draco doesn’t follow, he’ll look like an utter prat. And truly, what does he have to lose? Harry might’ve taken him off guard by being able to get off the ground, but really, how good could he be up in the air? Draco is the only one who knows of his muggle origins. Natural talent can only account for so much when you fly, and Draco refuses to believe Harry, whose had no proper training, is better than him.

Draco gives Pansy a easy, arrogant smile. “Pansy, _darling_, there’s no way that half-blood can fly better than me.” He drawls, before winking at her. “Trust me on this one.” He says under his breath, a twinkle in his eye, before flying up in the air after Harry.

He sees him soon enough, effortlessly maintaining himself still in the air, one hand on the broom, the other on the Remembrall.

Draco narrows his eyes. “I know for a _fact_ Harry Potter grew up with muggles. So how are you doing this?”

_How can you do this so effortlessly, on your first try, when it took me years to learn perfect flight?_

Harry smiles blithely, and if it wasn’t for the slight shake of his one hand on the broom, Draco would think he was having no trouble at all.

“Nature talent, Malfoy.” Harry drawls arrogantly. “I suppose you haven’t heard of it?”

Draco snarls and pitches forward on his broom, Harry zig zagging away. Down below everybody is watching, and there are _oohs_ and _aahs_ every time Harry or Draco perform a complicated maneuver, as well as cheers and jeers for them both depending on who’s on their side of the conflict.

Draco and Harry are almost as fast as each other, but each time Draco gets near him Harry performs some idiotically reckless maneuver that Draco can’t follow, that Draco _refuses_ to follow, because Draco actually values his life, even if Harry doesn’t.

They’re flying higher and higher, close to the tips of the spires of Hogwarts, and still Harry performs his wildly reckless tricks, and still Draco refuses to follow – wonders, really, if Harry even sees the height they’re at. He’s flying one handed, his other hand holding the Remembrall, but he acts like he’s still flying two handedly, acts like a drop from this height is nothing, acts like he’s untouchable. Draco watches with his heart in his throat as Harry almost loses balance twice, and somehow miraculously rights himself, with nothing but a smirk thrown over his back at Draco to show for it.

_Aren’t you afraid of something?_ Draco wants to ask. _Aren’t you afraid of anything?_

But Harry is nothing but fearless in every smirk thrown back at Draco, in every almost fall, in every wild maneuver, even though Draco knows this is his first time flying, even though Draco saw his shaking hand – there is something beautiful about that fearlessness, so much so Draco can’t help but be in awe of it, so much awe, in fact, that he becomes distracted and clips the back of his broom on one of the spires.

And falls.

XXX

Marcus Flint was cutting class when he saw it. One of the Slytherin prefects, Kristjan Becker, was with him. He’d only gotten the position because of his last name. Becker was a notorious bully and with a mean punch. He skipped class as much as Flint, and maybe even more. Becker had wanted to mess with the firsties, and that’s why they were out on the pitch in the first place.

“I want to see them cry like the little snot nosed babies they are,” He’d said.

Flint had just gone along with him. He didn’t really care much for bullying firsties – because they were fucking firsties and where’s the fun in that? – but he also didn’t have anything better to do, so he followed along.

But when they got there Marcus knew something was off. The firsties on the pitch were in pandemonium. They were jumping up and down and yelling and cheering and screaming obscenities – and then – a blood curdling scream. Marcus flinched in annoyance. He stared at screamer in question, a Parkinson, and followed her gaze up, up, up – to see Draco Malfoy falling from the sky.

Marcus Flint’s first thought is – _he’s fucking dead._

And that’s when he sees something amazing.

There’s another person up there, way up, by the spires of Hogwarts. Whoever he is, he’s too far away from the Malfoy heir to save him, and even if he was close enough, it’s a firstie and no firstie has the skill to do such a thing. They’d probably wind up killing themselves in the process. Marcus himself couldn’t manage such a thing, and Marcus is a pretty fucking good flyer.

But that doesn’t stop whoever’s up there.

Because even as Marcus is thinking the words – the mysterious flyer drops. It’s the craziest thing Marcus has ever seen, the wildest, most dangerous thing.

_That firstie up there is gonna die with the Malfoy heir,_ Marcus thinks in numb shock. That suicidal, crazy bastard, whoever he is – he’s going to die. That’s for certain. He’s flying straight for the ground, faster than a star when it falls from the sky, and Marcus wonders how he’s not on fire, how he’s not been blown off his broom from the sheer speed of his drop, how he’s still holding on.

Marcus watches the whole thing in grotesque fascination, watches as Malfoy gets closer and closer to the ground, watches as the other boy straight up dives for it. _Whatever Malfoy did, however he fell off – that was an accident. Whatever this other boy is doing – it’s fucking suicide._ But somehow – _somehow_ – even as this other boy gets closer to the ground, he also gets closer to Malfoy. _This is fucking impossible,_ Marcus thinks in shock. _I’m fucking high on potions this is not happening right now._

But it is happening. And at the last moment, right when Flint thinks they’re about to hit the ground together, right when Flint thinks they’re both about to shatter into pieces – at the very last moment – the other boy reaches Malfoy, yanks him by the arm, and jerks his broom up from the nose dive, centimeters from the ground.

It’s the most beautiful thing Marcus Flint has ever fucking seen.

XXX

There’s no sound. No scream. No short gasp. Nothing to indicate Draco has fallen off his broom.

Harry thought that, at least, a person like Draco Malfoy would scream.

But Harry only notices after almost losing his own balance, for the third time, and turns back again to give Malfoy a smirk – _see how much better I am at this than you?_ – only to see an empty space where Draco had been. And when he looks down, he sees it – a bright blur below him, falling fast.

Harry’s heart drops all the way down to his stomach.

There’s a million things running through his head at that moment. _He’s too far away I’ll never make it it’s suicide it’s a death wish how did I not notice how is he so far already he’s gone he’s long gone he’s dea-_

Harry ignores all of it.

He nose dives.

He plasters himself against the wood, one hand holding on tightly, the other on the Remembrall. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, I am so fucked-_

The wind is so strong against him it’s hard to hold on. Harry can feel the wood of the broom digging into his skin, he can feel himself bleed, he’s holding on so tight. He barely even knows if he’s following Draco properly because the wind is a knife against his eyes and Harry can feel tears sliding past his face, up into the air, and his vision is blurry because of his watery eyes.

But even Harry doesn’t need a clear vision to see the green of the pitch, a looming expanse of warning, the greener it gets in his eyes the only indication he has that he’s getting closer. He pulls even closer to his broom, leans in even more into the dive, pushing himself to go _faster, faster, even faster_ – can see the white blur that is Draco Malfoy, can see that he’s getting closer and closer to the pitch, and even closer to Draco, and right when they’re both about to break against the ground, Harry reaches a hand and yanks Draco by the elbow, jerking his broom up from the nose dive, which splinters apart from the force of gravity against it.

They both tumble to the ground safely, the broom taking the brunt of the force of gravity, allowing them a gentle landing not even five feet off the ground.

Harry feels his heart beating wildly, adrenaline still a drug in his veins. He holds himself above Draco carefully, searching for any signs of injury, and gets scared when Draco won’t open his eyes. He looks like an angel, just lying there, his hair a wild halo of white from the wind, cheeks flushed so prettily that Harry’s heart aches.

_If you’re dead, I’ll never forgive myself. If you’re dead, I think I’ll die too._

“Draco,” Harry pleads desperately. “Draco wake up – “

Draco opens his eyes, a deep silver, and Harry almost collapses on top of him from the relief it gives him.

“Thank God.” Harry whispers to himself. “I’m so sorry, Draco, I’m so, so sorry –“

Draco reaches both hands to cup Harry’s face and he almost flinches from the surprise it gives him. Draco hands are shaking.

He runs his hands along his face slowly, winding through his hair gently, and Harry shudders, turns his face towards the caress, has to stop himself from kissing Draco’s hands.

His mind feels hazy, like it’s filled with cotton, or the best kind of drug, and in that moment Harry feels like he would do anything for Draco Malfoy, if he just asked.

Draco’s hands cover his eyes, and Harry closes them.

“They’re green.” Draco whispers, and Harry’s eyes snap open in surprise, but Draco forces them close.

“Wait,” Draco orders, and after a few seconds Draco drops his hands from Harry’s face.

He swallows, looking away from Harry, a flush on his cheeks.

“They’re blue again,” he murmurs, and Harry just stares at him, is about to say something when the whole of the class crowds around them, all talking over each other.

“That was incredible!” One of them says.

“Craziest thing I’ve ever seen!” Another gushes.

“You almost got Draco killed!” Parkinson snarls.

And then –

“Aries Black? Well isn’t this a surprise. Didn’t know half bloods could fly that well,” says an older voice behind the crowd with dark eyes, a stranger with a prefect’s badge. Behind him, Marcus Flint stands with an unreadable expression.

Harry stands up, eyes the prefect warily. “It was a matter of life and death.” He replies cautiously. “It was the adrenaline that pushed me so far, not my own skill.”

“So modest,” the prefect mocks. “And do you mind telling me why you were up there in the first place?”

Everyone is silent, until Parkinson finally speaks up. Draco glares at her, but she talks anyway.

“It was all Black’s fault.” She sneers. “He took Neville’s Remembrall and Draco simply followed him to get it back. See it there in his hand?”

Shocked eyes turn to see the Remembrall still in Harry’s hand and he mentally curses_. I should’ve dropped it the moment we hit the ground_, Harry thinks angrily. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. Around him, awed whispers.

“He still has it?”

“He did that bloody nosedive one handed?”

“Mental.”

The prefect turns to Malfoy with a raised eyebrow. “Is this true, Malfoy? Was this horrible boy goading you?”

Draco opens his mouth, hesitation on his face, and when Harry looks at him, he closes it. He gives a resolute –

“No.”

The prefect looks disappointed. “Then are you going to tell us what happened?”

“No.”

The prefect looks annoyed now. Pansy whacks Malfoy in frustration.

“You stupid boy!” She screeches.

Harry simply stares at Draco, wonders why he hasn’t outed him.

The prefect sighs. “Well, even if Malfoy doesn’t want to talk, you still broke a perfectly good broom,” the prefect says, glancing at the splinters of wood a little ways away, before giving a nasty smile, “and that means you’re still liable for punishment.”

Behind the prefect, Marcus Flint’s eyes are laser focused on Harry’s. He doesn’t know what it means, but it doesn’t matter, because then the prefect gives Harry a wide smile and says –

“Come now. It’s time to go see the Head of Slytherin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA - harry's disguise is strong dark magic. it has to be renewed every ten years but it shouldnt come off before then. the reason harry's eyes turned green again was because he was in a stressful situation (like the one in the closet) and his magic is so powerful he was able to throw off the disguise for a moment.
> 
> SOOOO what did u think??? lemme knowww, had some strong Harry x Draco there for a sec hehe
> 
> also can u guess whats gonna happen next? any comments about flint? idk just talk to me :)))


	10. Child's Play

“It’s not fair!” Draco wails dramatically, sitting on Aamir’s bed while Aamir tries to comfort him. “It can’t be true – Black can’t be the seeker for Slytherin! First years aren’t even allowed to play!”

The news had come out during lunch, when Harry had sat down at the Slytherin table without a care in the world. Everyone thought he would be in a world of trouble. But apparently, the only reason Prefect Becker had taken Black to the head of Slytherin was because of Marcus Flint – he wanted Harry as a seeker, and he took him to Snape to argue his case. Somehow, Marcus had won.

“He didn’t even get in trouble!” Draco wails again. “For any of it!”

Aamir glares at him. “And whose fault is that?”

Draco continues, ignoring Aamir’s angry eyes. “I mean, I know what he did was pretty amazing, and that drop was pretty fantastic, and the fact that he was holding onto Neville’s Remembrall the whole time was _incredible_ –“

Draco remembers closing his eyes right as he was about to hit the pitch, not wanting to see his end, and opening his eyes again in confusion when there was no shattering of bones, and seeing a pair of wild green eyes above him, pupils blown wide and so very, very afraid.

Draco remembers thinking, surprised, _this is what you’re afraid of? Not that great height, or falling, but me dying? Really?_

Draco could’ve kissed him in that moment he was so grateful. He could’ve tackled him a bear hug. His heart was beating wildly against his chest. _Such power, and he used it to save me?_ The thought was like a drug. The desperate way Harry called his name – like everything. Draco’s neck ached, begged to feel teeth. He reached his hands up, thinking only to close Harry’s eyes, to return them to their blue color, but he ended up caressing his face, running his hands through his hair, wanting so much to touch that beautiful face, to keep those green eyes deeper than emerald – darker too – on him. Eyes that said they would do anything from him.

Draco shakes himself out the memory, his face a bright red.

“- but still it’s – _it’s not fair!”_ He whines again petulantly, trying to forget his previous thoughts of Harry.

“I’m going to kill him,” Aamir says darkly, and Draco remembers the train, remembers Aamir screaming, and shudders, thinks, _no, not that again, never again_, says –

“Don’t be dramatic, Aamir.” Snaps it, really, between angry, anxious teeth.

Aamir only stares at him with serious amber eyes. “He almost killed you.”

“He didn’t almost kill me, Aamir,” Draco replies exasperatedly. “Even if I had died,” he starts, and Aamir’s eyes darken dangerously, so he says again, “**_if_** I had died, it wouldn’t have been his fault, it would’ve been mine because I wasn’t paying attention.”

Aamir frowns, brushes the tears from Draco’s face where they lay side by side, facing each other. “Then what I’m I supposed to do? You know I hate it when you cry, Draco. You’re too pretty to cry.”

Draco blushes, and feels annoyed at how casually Aamir lies. “Don’t lie to me,” he snaps. “You’re just trying to make me stop crying.”

Aamir stares at him, all serious like, and Draco hates that about him too, how he can look so sincere. “But I’m not lying, though.” He says, then cups Draco’s cheek, staring at the silver of his eyes. He nudges another tear away with his thumb. “You really are beautiful.”

“Stop,” Draco whines, turning away from Aamir, cheeks flushed. “You’re so embarrassing.”

And then, with Draco’s back turned, a quiet –

“Am I embarrassing?” In a voice so small Draco thinks he’s imagined it, would still think he imagined it if Aamir hadn’t added –

“Because of my scar…do I embarrass you now?”

Draco turns back around instantly, his eyes a boiling mercury.

“What stupid drivel are you saying?” He snarls, feeling overprotective. “Who told you that, Aamir? I swear I’ll tear them limb from limb –“

Aamir only rolls his eyes, slightly mollified by Draco’s protectiveness.

“No one has to say anything, Draco. It’s pretty obvious. You’re pretty and I’m…not. And everyone knows you like pretty things. People already think our friendship is weird because…” And here Aamir trails off bitterly, expression closed off.

_Because you’re an heir and I’m not._

Aamir doesn’t even have to say the words. Draco already knows.

“Well other people are stupid.” Draco snaps. “And you shouldn’t listen to them. Merlin _knows_ you’re smarter than all of them combined.” Draco pauses, studies Aamir’s features. “And…”

_And you’re not ugly_. Not by a long shot. Before the scar, and even after, Aamir has startlingly stunning features. His eyes the color of burnt autumn leaves, his coal dark lashes, his strong brows, and his aristocratic cheekbones. His skin tone is unique as well, a lovely burnt shade of brown. The addition of the scar, though in itself ugly, serves only to make Aamir appear more dangerous, intimidating, and powerful. Aamir, though not classically handsome, is certainly beautiful.

“And what?” Aamir asks curiously, his amber eyes closer to gold than red in the light.

Draco blushes at his own thoughts. “Don’t make me say it.”

At his words, Aamir gives Draco a bemused smile, his eyes holding a question. “Say what?”

_That you’re handsome. That you’re attractive. That you’re not at all ugly._

“Nothing.” Draco says quickly, hoping Aamir will let it go.

But he doesn’t let it go. He’s laughing as he grabs Draco’s hands, tries to pull them away from his face.

“Why are you hiding your face from me?” He laughs. “You’re so red. What were you gonna say?” He asks in curious amusement.

Aamir is straddling him now, still trying to pull Draco’s hands from his face.

“Nothing,” Draco whines, “lemme go.”

Aamir smiles. “I’ll let you go if you stop pouting.”

Draco tries to frown. “I’m not pouting.” He replies petulantly.

Aamir smiles like Draco’s the most endearing thing in the world. “You’re so cute when you pout,” he says, and Draco feels his cheeks turn pink.

“I’m not cute.” Draco grumbles, knows he’s puffing out his cheeks the way he does when he’s upset with his mother, and knows it’s childish, but he’s too upset at this point to care. “Stop teasing me.”

Aamir nuzzles his neck, a puppy thing they’re far too old for, but since they’re so close Draco’s used to it.

“I’m not teasing you,” Aamir mumbles somewhere near his ear. “You’re so cute I could eat you up,” he says, breath hot on Draco’s neck.

Draco shivers slightly. He knows this game. He tries to shimmy himself out of Aamir’s iron embrace, but all it does is make it seem like Draco’s trying to rub himself against Aamir. “Aamir,” he whines, “aren’t we too old for this game? It’s embarrassing.”

Aamir moves his face from out of Draco’s neck to blink curiously down at him. Innocent.

“But you used to love Alpha and Omega.”

Draco can’t even bear to make eye contact, his eyelashes lowered in embarrassment. Because it’s _really_ embarrassing. Alpha and Omega was one of the many kids games he and Aamir used to play when they were younger, along with Bride and Groom, and Florian the fool and Lady Jonquil. He must’ve been brainwashed by his mother’s constant crossdressing because he always demanded to play the feminine counterpart in each of the games.

In Alpha and Omega the game usually started with a chase, in which the Alpha would hunt the Omega, and then proceed to ‘eat’ them, which usually consisted of little nips here and there as the two tumbled on the ground. It was puppy socialization, and not uncommon for kids to play, and not strange for two friends to play it instead of simply a boy and a girl. But it was a little strange if you were still playing it at age eleven, and it wasn’t as fun when the connotation of omega had such a negative image attached to it. When Draco was a kid he used to love playing omega, because kids didn’t really care about secondary genders then, and because he loved being the one getting chased. But as he grew up, because of his delicate appearance, and feminine features, omega started being used against him as a slur, and Draco quickly learned to hate the word. The idea that he ever loved the game Alpha and Omega is shocking to him.

“Yeah I used to love playing that game…” Draco says bitterly. “Before I found out omegas are _whores_. And never mind the fact that I’m not a _girl_.”

“You’re right.” Aamir blinks. “You’re prettier than a girl.”

And then he nips Draco’s elbow and Draco yelps, can’t help but let out a startled laugh at the ticklish feeling as Aamir starts nipping him in other places. They wrestle around in the bed, Draco struggling to get out of his ‘Alpha’s’ grip, laughing the whole time, before inevitably Aamir winds up on top of him again, straddling Draco’s hips and pinning his wrists above his head.

“Naughty omega.” Aamir says mock seriously, and if it were anybody else saying that, Draco would punch them in the face, but he knows Aamir doesn’t mean it in that way.

Still, saying naughty omega when you’re six is different from saying it when you’re eleven, and when you’re eleven it sounds more…sensual. Dirty. Draco feels himself shudder at the words, feels like it’s gotten hotter.

“_Alpha_,” Draco whines, and struggles to remove his hands from Aamir’s vice-like grip, to no avail. He feels weak all of a sudden, like his bones are made out of putty.

Something darkens in Aamir’s eyes for a moment, but Draco knows he must’ve imagined it because in the next second Aamir gives him an easy grin. Aamir nips his way down Draco’s arm before catching Draco’s ear between his teeth, Draco shuddering from the contact. Aamir nuzzles his cheek and it takes all of Draco’s willpower not to rub himself against him.

“My omega,” Aamir whispers against his ear, voice deeper than Draco has ever heard it, and his insides feel like they’re on fire. He just barely keeps from whining.

Then Aamir moves lower, starts to nuzzle his neck, and if his insides felt hot before now they feel like molten lava. Every witch and wizard’s neck is a sensitive place, due to the fact that a bite on the neck means a claim for life. It’s a very erogenous zone, even before you come into your secondary gender. Usually in the game Alpha and Omega, the ‘Alpha’ will bite the ‘Omega’s’ shoulder. That’s the whole point of the game after all – to claim the runaway omega. It’s practice for when it will have to happen in real life, a game meant to educate young children. A bite on the shoulder means its not a ‘true’ claiming.

Aamir has bitten Draco’s shoulder more times than he can count.

_(…and when Draco thinks back on it later, he realizes that even though he’s played Alpha and Omega with other people before, Aamir is the only one he's let bite his shoulder)_

But this time Aamir is nuzzling his neck, and when he goes to nip Draco he scrapes his canines ever so gently against his neck, and it feels like a lightning bolt shooting straight down Draco’s spine.

Draco can’t help it.

He moans.

Aamir freezes. Draco freezes. And then –

“What the fuck?”

Draco’s head snaps to the side. There, at the entrance of Aamir’s dormitory, is Harry bloody Potter with eyes like the bluest storm, two angry spots of color high on his cheeks.

Draco flushes burgundy. _Morgana’s tits –_

“This is NOT what it looks like – “

But Harry is out the door in a swirl of robes before Draco can say another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	11. Secondary Genders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns about secondary genders and Aamir pisses him off (when does he not, though?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so some people were uncomfortable with the previous chapter - which i totally understand. but draco wasnt in that erotic mindset and all he knows is that it felt good. he wasnt thinking anything beyond that. and also - lets be real. think of sixth grade boys, which harry and draco and aamir technically are.  
sixth grade boys are GROSS. they are NOT innocent. at least not the ones i knew lol.
> 
> but ignore that with draco, he's my little ball of innocence.

“I just don’t understand what I did wrong.” Harry says stubbornly, a last ditch attempt to prevent having to face Professor Snape for punishment.

Prefect Becker gives out a bark of laughter, his eyes maliciously amused. Marcus Flint rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Black.”

The response is unexpected. Harry scrunches his eyebrows in confusion, before quickly clearing away the expression to settle on indignant anger.

“Then why I am here? I saved Draco’s life. I think that’s a means for reward not punishment.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re here.” Flint replies calmly. “For your reward.”

Harry doesn’t bother to hide his confusion this time. “Okay can someone explain what in the bloody hell is happening here?”

But Flint only answers his question with another question. “How long have you been flying?”

Harry looks at him like he’s stupid. “Since today.”

Prefect Becker narrows his eyes. Flint looks annoyed.

“Bullshit.” He spits out. “Now tell me the truth.”

“Listen,” Harry snaps back, “I was raised with my muggle cou-_caretaker_ – since I was born. It’s only recently that I started to live with my aunt and uncle. And they never bothered teaching me to fly-“ _because they had more important things to teach me like calligraphy and the history of wizarding world and how to talk posh_ “-because they didn’t have the time. So if you’re trying to _accuse_ me of something-“

“What you did back there was a bloody miracle. Dropping like that? Catching up to Malfoy so fast? He should be a broken body on the pitch right now.” Flint says bluntly, and Harry can’t help flinching, picturing the image in his mind.

“You’re a good flyer, Black.” Flint continues, and his eyes are once again laser focused. “And you’ll be a good seeker for Slytherin.”

Flint watches him, waiting for some type of reaction. Harry just blinks.

“What?”

Flint raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never heard of quidditch before?”

The word strikes a cord in his memory. He remembers Madam Hooch covering it a little in class, and seeing some kids playing it on the field during lunch. It didn’t seem all that interesting if he was being honest.

“Uh, actually I’m good. Thanks for the offer though.”

Prefect Becker bursts into laughter. Flint gives him a crooked smile.

“You don’t understand. I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you.”

This, at least, Harry can understand.

_“What?”_ He yells obnoxiously. He tries to calm himself down. _Think rational, Harry. **Be** rational._

“You don’t even like me,” Harry tells Flint with suspicious eyes. “I’m not even a proper pureblood.”

“I couldn’t care less if you were a naked mole rat with leprosy,” says Flint frankly, still expressionless. “You know Slytherin hasn’t won a house cup since I was a first year? I’m sick and tired of losing to Oliv – _‘Ole_ Gryffindor,” Flint covers awkwardly. “And if you’re our best chance at getting it, then you can bet my bollocks you’ll be on the team.”

“I will not,” Harry snarls furiously in reply.

Harry makes the team.

Harry doesn’t know how Flint does it, but he goes into Snape’s office with Becker and somehow manage to convince him that Harry should be on the team. Even though he’s a first year, which is apparently breaking some rule. Harry figures its due to his lack of presence in the office with Flint and Becker, and possibly the fact that he could get seriously injured playing quidditch, that Professor Snape accepts the ridiculous request.

But that’s honestly the least of Harry’s worries. Afterwards, he goes to lunch in search of Draco, hoping to see his face, and make sure he’s okay, or say sorry or something like that, but winds up disappointed when he’s nowhere in sight.

Nott hits him with a blinding grin. “Heard Flint pulled some strings to make you Slytherin’s seeker. _Wicked_.” Nott says in a voice that is almost reverent.

Harry just stares. _People knew about that already?_ He shakes the thought away.

“Do you know where Draco is?” He asks.

Nott grin drops straight off his face. “No.” He snaps. “Why do you need the prat anyway?”

Harry ignores him and turns to face Zabini, the same question in his eyes.

Zabini snorts. “I think the better question would be _who_ is he with? And I think that’s pretty obvious so I won’t answer.”

Something rankles deep in Harry’s bones. _Of course_, he thinks bitterly. Where else does Draco spend most of his time if not in Aamir’s dormitory? Still, Harry is determined to see him, and even the idea of Aamir Shafiq isn’t enough to turn him off so he heads towards the Slytherin dormitories.

Harry doesn’t really understand what he’s seeing at first. The door is slightly ajar and he’s about to knock to announce his presence but Draco’s giggling stops him. Aamir and him look like they’re wrestling on the bed (which, what are they _five?_) and the world ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega’ keep popping up and Harry thinks it pretty innocent (if goofy) at first until Aamir pins Draco’s arms above his head.

The anger that tears it’s way down his spine is instant. Harry feels his lips stretch into an ugly snarl, teeth bared. He growls, low and primitive, but neither Draco or Aamir hear him. And while there is something light in Draco’s eyes, his face flushed and happy, innocent, something darker flashes through the amber of Aamir’s, so quickly that even Harry thinks he imagines it in the murky gold.

And then Aamir is lowering his teeth to scrape against Draco’s neck, head bowed as if in prayer, as in front of something holy, and Draco cries out, his body arching slightly off the bed, not a cry that says something’s hurts, but a cry that says – that says –

_“What the fuck?”_

XXX

Draco pushes Aamir off of him, about to chase after Harry when Aamir grabs his wrist.

“What are you doing?” He asks. His expression is closed off. His eyes look unamused.

Draco tries to yank his wrist out of his hold but Aamir only tightens his grip.

Draco huffs, annoyed. “Making sure Ha-_Aries_ doesn’t go spreading weird rumors.”

“Why are you always chasing after him?”

Draco’s eyes almost fall out of his sockets. He feels an angry flush rise on his cheeks.

“What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

Aamir’s eyes are the color of hard copper, unflinching. “It means you’re always trying to get his attention.”

There is something ugly in Aamir’s voice, something ugly that Draco – at first – thinks he’s never heard before. But then different words come to him, but not really different at all, and in the same nasty tone –

_What’s so amazing about Zabini that you hang out with him all the time?_

The sense of déjà vu is so strong that Draco almost flinches, because Aamir _had _talked him like that once in the past, before the blowout with Blaise over the summer. Something uneasy crawls under Draco’s skin remembering the words, remembering the way Aamir is not so mindless in his friendship with Draco like Crabbe and Goyle or even Pansy. Aamir is smarter than them. Smarter, sometimes, than even Draco.

“Let go,” Draco demands, his voice the same hard steel of his father’s when he’s ordering someone below him. Draco never uses this tone on Aamir, but if he’s going to act like this, Draco can’t waver.

There is second where their eyes are locked on each other, steadfast, and Draco thinks he sees something hard and mean flash in Aamir’s eyes, something that tells him, this time -_this time- _he won’t listen, but it’s gone so quickly that Draco’s sure he’s imagined it, especially after Aamir breaks their stare and lets go of him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, eyes downcast. “I went too far.”

And Aamir bends into himself, getting into his kicked puppy act, and even though Draco _knows _it’s an act, he also knows Aamir is truly sorry, because Aamir is Draco’s best friend and he _knows_ him.

Draco _tsks_ and runs a quick hand through Aamir’s hair.

“It’s okay yeah? I’ll be back.”

And Aamir gives Draco a smile in return, and if Draco hadn’t had other things on his mind, he would notice it was rather forced.

But he was too focused on following Harry to notice such things.

XXX

Draco almost trips in his haste up the stairs and out of the Slytherin dormitory, but successfully manages to catch up to Harry in the hallway.

“Ha-_Aries!_” He calls out, but even though Harry hears it, he only seems to walk faster at the words, until Draco eventually has to run to catch up to him and grabs him by the arm.

“Hey!” Draco huffs. “I was calling you!”

Harry yanks his elbow out of Draco’s grip. “Hey yourself.” He snaps. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He sneers. “Like Aamir’s bed?”

Draco flushes at the implication. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t what you were thinking.”

_It was just a game._

Harry stares at him hard, his blue eyes hyper-focused on Draco’s.

“And what exactly,” he says slowly, “do you think I was thinking?”

Draco splutters. Is he really going to make him say it out loud?

“You k-k-know,” Draco stutters, internally cursing himself, before glancing around in the hallway to make sure no one is around, and whispering in Harry’s ear. “_Something dirty.”_

Harry rears back like he’s been burnt while Draco stares at him in confusion. There’s a flush on his cheeks that Draco attributes to anger, because the next thing he says is –

“I wasn’t thinking anything, Malfoy, because I don’t _care_. So stop bothering me.”

XXX

After class Harry goes straight to his room, slamming the door shut behind him, and catching the attention of Goyle, Nott, and Zabini.

“Touchy, touchy.” Nott titters, eyes watching Harry thoughtfully. “What’s up with you?”

“Why is Malfoy such a prat?” Harry snarls, completely ignoring Nott’s question.

“Ah, yes,” Nott nods in understanding. “The Malfoy-Prat conundrum – or rather – law of nature.”

“You know, I went Aamir’s dorm to apologize to him – Malfoy, not Shafiq – because I felt bad. Because I don’t know - I thought maybe we could clear the air, or start fresh, or at least not be at each other’s neck every other day. I thought Malfoy might feel bad as well, might be moping, or hurt, but instead – instead – “

And Harry can’t bring himself to finish his sentence, so angry just imagining it – Draco smiling, laughing, not a care in the world, not even _thinking_ about Harry, not even thinking about thanking him for saving his life, not even _grateful – _and what the hell was up with his voice? Touching Harry's shoulder, then moving close to him, whispering, almost _purring_ the word 'dirty,' his cheeks flushed, his lashes lowered coyly, his breath hot on Harry’s neck -

“You know what forget it.” Harry snaps, and throws himself on his bed. There’s something more pressing anyway. “What’s alpha and omega mean?”

All three boys look at him oddly.

“You don’t know what an alpha and omega are?” Goyle repeats stupidly.

“Yes, Goyle.” Harry snaps. “I believe that’s what I just asked. And what do you mean ‘are?’ I thought it was a game?”

“Well it _is_ a game for pups.” Nott chips in.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Pups?”

Nott gives him a dead eyed look. “Yeah, pups. As in, kids. Wasn’t your squib mother pureblood?” Nott asks suspiciously. “Didn’t she explain all this to you?”

Harry makes up a lie on the spot, one he knows they’ll believe because of the rumors. “My mother was crazy after all the things Sirius did to her. She couldn’t even spell her own name.” Harry fibs dramatically, but the other boys seem to swallow it, because they give him pitying looks before continuing.

“Well, I’ll start from the beginning then.” Nott says carefully. “First thing you have to know is that all witches and wizards have a secondary gender.”

“Secondary gender?” Harry repeats disbelievingly.

“Yes, Aries –“ Nott says condescendingly, “- as in – you have a second gender besides being male.”

“I got that.” Harry snaps, not liking Nott’s tone. “I just think it’s weird that’s all.”

“Well then stop interrupting me with pointless comments.” Nott snaps back before taking a deep breath and starting again.

“Anyway – your secondary gender can either be alpha, beta, or omega. An alpha is at the top in terms of hierarchy but they’re rare. Alphas are the strongest of all the secondary genders, and get the best jobs, and the hottest babes.” Nott pauses, then smiles. “So obviously that’s gonna be me.”

Goyle throws a pillow at Nott’s head and Zabini rolls his eyes before Nott can continue again.

“But basically if you’re an alpha you’re set for life. Unfortunately, most people are betas, nothing extraordinary about that except that they can smell and scent people like the other secondary genders – but besides that it’s like you don’t have a secondary gender at all.”

“And omegas?” Harry asks, leaning forward, already knowing it’s not going to be good, because he still remembers what Nott called Draco not even that long ago.

_Omega whore._

Nott smirks. “Trust me when I tell you the last thing you want to be in life is an omega – not that it really matters, since most omegas are girls anyway, but still. A male omega might be rare, but it happens once in a blue moon. Omegas are at the _verrrrry_ bottom of the hierarchy, and they’re super rare, even rarer than alphas. They were meant for fucking, and they were built for it - that’s why they smell so good and can go so long. Also, they’re the weakest of the secondary genders, so what else could they be good for?”

Goyle snickers along with Nott but Harry notices Zabini doesn’t laugh.

“So how do we know our secondary genders?”

Nott rolls his eyes like Harry’s stupid. “We don’t you twat. We only come into our secondary genders when we’re fourteen or so. Depends on the person. Sometimes it can be later.”

“I don’t get it.”

Nott scowls. “How stupid are you? What’s there to get?”

Harry glares at Nott. “I mean the game. How can alpha and omega be a kids game if omegas are meant to be fucked?”

Nott grimaces. “Well it’s different when you’re a pup.” He says, as if Harry will understand. “It’s not sexual. It’s just a game like wrestling to show whose stronger, and if you lose, you’re the omega.”

“And why do you keep saying pup?” Harry asks annoyed. “We’re not dogs.”

“But we are, sort of.” Nott says seriously. “All witches and wizards have lycanthropic blood in them. They _were _the first magical beings. That’s why we have secondary genders: it was never fully breeded out. And though you don’t come into your secondary gender until you’re older, haven’t you ever felt it? The wolf in you? I mean it’s especially strong when you’re a kid. It’s instinct to growl and bite and lick at your wounds or your friends wounds – that’s why they call kids pups.”

And though Harry wants to say no: he’s never felt that before - he has a sudden flashback of when Dudley set the neighbor’s Doberman on him when he was seven. Dudley had let go of his leash on purpose, and when the Doberman set its sights on Harry, his first instinct wasn’t to run – but to tackle the dog.

With a snarl Harry had launched himself at the dog, and they tussled on the ground until Harry bit his shoulder hard and the Doberman whimpered, settling itself, recognizing Harry’s dominance.

Harry had thought it strange afterwards. That attacking, not running, had been his first response. The neighbors had been furious. The Doberman became too meek to protect their home.

Seeing the obvious doubt on Harry’s face, Nott calls out to Goyle.

“Come on, Goyle, let’s play.”

Goyle groans. “We’re too old to play.”

Nott smiles, wicked-like. “Why? Scared you’re going to be the omega?”

Goyle growls at that and immediately tackles Nott onto his bed, the both of them wrestling to subjugate the other first.

And Harry has to admit – he can see how it’s like wrestling. And it seems fun. There is definitely nothing sexual in the way Goyle snarls at Nott, his meaty fists swinging, trying to take a crack at Nott’s jaw while Nott with a nasty smile bites down on his arm. Goyle yowls and falls back, clutching his arm while Nott jumps on top of him, then brings down his incisors on Goyle’s shoulder – hard. It’s dirty – yes – but in a mean way. Not in the way –

“D’you see?” Nott grins, interrupting Harry’s thoughts, blood on his teeth. “That’s alpha and omega. Why’d you ask?”

Harry hesitates before he says –

“Malfoy and Shafiq were playing it.”

Nott doesn’t even blink an eye. He just snorts. “How immature,” he says snottily, as if he didn’t play it just now. “It was probably Malfoy’s idea. He’s a baby like that.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Harry says incredulously.

Nott raises an eyebrow. “Not in the way you’re thinking. You just don’t get it, Black. You weren’t really raised like us. It’s just a silly game.”

Both Goyle and Nott seem to think it’s no big deal, causing Harry to wonder if he’s overthinking things, so much so he fails to notice Blaise Zabini, still sitting quietly, his face grim.

XXX

By the time supper comes around Harry has mostly settled down – until, that is, he gets to the Great Hall.

Because who else does he see first but Malfoy and Shafiq? Shafiq, who currently has his head stuck in the crook of Draco’s neck as he finishes eating, both sitting there squashed together like bugs, as if there wasn’t any other option, as if there wasn’t any more space, which – oh yeah! _There is._

Harry slams his tray of food on the table when he sits down. It startles Draco enough that he moves away from Shafiq, his fingers twitchy.

“What’s up with you?” Weasley asks at the same time Draco says nervously –

“’lo, Black.”

“Not much,” Harry says in response to Weasley, completely ignoring the way Draco’s face falls.

The rest of supper goes the same way, with Draco trying to talk to him, and Harry ignoring him, while Aamir seems to be all over Draco.

“Are you almost done yet?” Shafiq asks Draco, and it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s annoyed by how slow Draco’s eating.

And Draco is obviously annoyed as well because he snaps back

“No. And stop asking me that.”

And that’s when it happens.

Draco’s taking another spoonful of beef stew when someone knocks into him, and the stew dribbles down his cheek. Draco curses, and then Aamir leans in and licks – _LICKS_ – a long stripe of it off him.

And he stares at Harry as he does.

Harry feels his spoon fall out of his hands.

Besides him, Weasley mimes barfing into his stew, Draco seems embarrassed and Nott makes an ugly face.

“Why do you two act like pups all the time? So fucking immature.” Nott grouses, but Harry can barely hear him over the pounding of blood in his ears, and the red that covers his vision.

He immediately stands up, knocking his spoon to the floor, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Okay that’s enough – “

And now everyone is staring at him, wondering what the hell is going on, while Aamir blinks at him innocently.

“What?” He asks, expression glib.

And Harry thinks, _you know what. You bloody know what. Other people might say it’s just pup stuff, or it’s just a game, but I see you Shafiq. I saw your dark amber eyes. You’re playing a game alright - just not the one everyone’s thinking. A game nobody else knows. A game that’s all your own._

And Harry says, smiling

“I challenge you to a wizards duel.”

_The problem with poking a tiger, Shafiq, is that eventually they wake up._


	12. Wizard's Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to get this out as fast as i could yall so if theres grammar issues dont judgeeee

Aamir stares at him, unimpressed. “Why? What did I do to you?”

And Harry just barely keeps from swinging his fist forward, from breaking his face in, from pulling Draco away from him and says

“I don’t like the way you talked to me on the pitch, Shafiq. I don’t like the way you were looking at me either. In fact, you’ve had an attitude ever since I met you.”

_But what I really, really don’t like is the fact that you licked Draco like he was your fucking property, and stared right at me when you did it._

Shafiq’s eyes narrow. “Me?” He asks incredulously. “I’ve had an attitude? You didn’t like me from the start. You embarrassed me at your party. Or do you not remember, _Black_?” Aamir spits out.

And Harry thinks – _gotcha_. Got you on my hook you slimy, slippery, stinky fish.

“Those sound like fighting words to me, Shafiq, and I intend to fight.” Harry raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’re too chicken?”

Harry’s noticed it’s hard to make Aamir mad, takes time and patience and words that any other person wouldn’t have. But for some reason, Harry is especially adept at it, and as a result he can see Aamir already inwardly seething, and he knows he’s not going to turn down this wizard’s duel.

“Who’s your second?” Aamir asks.

“Weasley.” Harry says automatically, barely registering the angry ‘Hey!’ thrown in his direction.

“What about yours?” He asks, but really, shouldn’t have bothered.

“Malfoy.” Aamir replies coolly, and Draco throws an angry ‘Hey!’ as well.

Harry grins, so fake he can taste the plastic.

“Midnight. On the third corridor. We’ll meet there.”

Aamir smiles back at him, but the effect is ruined by the burning amber of his eyes.

“Count on it, Black.”

XXX

“What were you _thinking?_” Draco hisses as soon as they’re out of the great hall.

Aamir glances at him, his eyes giving away nothing.

“Me? I simply accepted his challenge. You of all people should know how it would’ve looked if I hadn’t, Draco.”

Draco huffs in exasperation. “Well, obviously, you’re not going to go through with it – right?”

Aamir stays silent.

_“Are you serious?!”_ Draco all but screeches. “The third corridor is forbidden, Aamir, or do you not remember?”

“I remember well.” Aamir murmurs.

“And you still want to go through with it?” Draco says incredulously. “There’s a better way to do this, Aamir. The _Slytherin_ way. Black is an idiot and obviously doesn’t realize how much trouble he could get in. I say we stand him up and snitch on him to Filch. He’ll be in a _world _of trouble then, and we won’t even have to get our hands dirty!”

The logic is brilliant. It’s utterly Slytherin. But somehow Draco already knows – Aamir won’t go for it. There’s something about Harry that gets under Aamir’s skin.

_Like how Zabini did._

Draco shakes the thought out of his head instantly. No, thinking about Zabini right now is not going to help things. Though the situation does seem eerily similar to the mess that happened in the summer. Seems almost, to be following in the same steps.

Aamir must see something on his face, however, because he says -

“You don’t have to this if you don’t want to. I can get another second.”

But surely Aamir must know too, that Draco would never let him go alone.

“It’s fine.” Draco half-snarls. “Don’t say stupid things when you already know me going is a given.”

Just like, back then, you knew it was a given I would take your side.

_Aamir, I would never tell you this, but sometimes I wonder if the things Zabini told me about you were true._

XXX

“The bloody hell is your problem?!” Weasley screeches at him the moment they’re out of the great hall.

Harry tries not to grimace. He knew this wouldn’t go over well. But he needed a second and he knew nobody else would be up for it. Better to force Weasley into it.

“You have my back, right?” Harry tries.

“I have your back against those _psycho_ pureblood bullies. Not against Aamir Shafiq!

Harry scowls. “Oh so Shafiq isn’t a bully? Isn’t a pureblood? Is actually a _saint_ in disguise?”

Weasley stares at him in amazement. “Blimey, is this because of Malfoy?”

“What?” Harry snaps. “No!”

“Because I’m going to be honest with you, Black, I have no problem with Shafiq. In fact, besides that stint in the train car, he’s been down right saint-like compared to the way the other Slytherins are treating me.”

“So you do think he’s a saint! Great! Just great! Let us all bow down to the wonderful St. Shafiq, destroyer of worldly vanity, conqueror of impurity, example of humility, may He have mercy on our souls!”

Weasley just continues to stare at him, something like horror on his face now. “Bloody hell, I know Malfoy can go on and on about him, and it can drive a bloke a little mad, but you’re just plain barking. No _way_ I’m going to be your second tonight, Black. Over my dead body!”

And Harry sneers, presses his face close to Weasley, whispers

“Then over your dead body it will have to be, Weasel. You _know_ the only reason you aren’t dead right now is because I managed to get those Slytherin’s schedules from Alex. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to avoid them and they would have found you by now, and done Merlin knows what to you.” Harry smiles, mercenary. “So I expect you to be there tonight, Weasley.”

“Or else.”

XXX

They leave the dorm at different times as not to catch attention.

Aamir and Draco leave first.

“I swear if we get in trouble for this you’re dead to me, Aamir.” Draco hisses when they successfully reach the third corridor.

“Don’t be such a princess, Draco.” Aamir snaps, but not before almost running into a wall, as he has been ever since they got out of the light of the dorm and into the dark of the halls.

Still, being called princess is a sore spot for Draco, and he hisses. “Call me a princess one more time and I’m out of here.”

“Princess.”

Draco freezes, recognizing the voice isn’t Aamir’s. When he turns he finds Harry and Weasley looking back - Harry grinning in the dark, Weasley sulking.

Harry relishes the look of surprise on Draco’s face from catching him off guard, but quickly turns his attention to face Aamir, his true enemy at the moment. Sadly, Aamir remains impassive, and Harry can’t tell at all what he’s thinking.

“’Lo, Shafiq.” He says smiling pleasantly. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Didn’t think you’d come either.” Shafiq replies smoothly, the shadow of a smile in his eyes. “Considering last time I almost killed you.”

Harry’s fist clench on reflex, before he takes a breath, and calms himself.

“I’m not the one who ended permanently disfigured because of it, though.”

And this time it is Aamir’s turn to lose face, something like fire in his eyes, before he whips out his wand and points it at Harry.

_“Tacita deficta!”_

Harry jumps out of the way but turns out he doesn’t need to. Shafiq’s aim is way off and ends up hitting a stone column ten feet away, no way _near_ Harry.

Everyone stares, surprised. Then Harry busts out laughing.

“What was-what_-what kind of shitty aim is that?”_ Then he whips out his own wand and yells

_“Vetus quomundo!”_ Perfectly casted, and perfectly aimed, but it’s just Harry’s own rotten luck that Aamir manages to jump out of the way just in time.

On the sidelines Draco and Weasley are also dueling, and though Shafiq manages to deflect most of Harry’s spells, he seems unable to aim one in his direction, which is strange because he was perfectly fine on the train.

_Maybe it was the close quarters?_ Harry thinks to himself. _Maybe he’s great at casting, but not so much at aiming?_

It doesn’t make sense to Harry, though. It doesn’t seem right. And even Aamir himself had seemed surprised when the spell had missed Harry so spectacularly.

Harry stares at the serrated skin that claws its way down Shafiq’s right eye. It glows an eerie white in the shadow of the flickering torches, so different from the color of his skin.

_Could it be…?_

But Harry never finishes that thought, because right in that moment Filch’s cat walks onto the scene.

XXX

“Mrs. Norriss ~ where are youuuu?” Filch croons, and a four-way simultaneous look of horror crosses all of their faces.

Weasley is the first to run away. The rest follow him. Follow him all the way to a hidden door, that he tries to close behind him.

“Find another place to hide,” Weasley sneers, struggling to close the door against the combined strength of Malfoy, Black and Shafiq.

“There is no other place to hide,” Draco sneers right back, his face covered in sheer panic.

Eventually, the three of them overpower Weasley, and they all tumble into the dark room, shutting the door behind them, holding their breaths and waiting for Filch to pass them by.

Harry ends up being one of the ones in the back, squashed up against Draco and pushing him against the door. Harry can’t help the impulse that overcomes him staring directly at Draco’s bare neck – he grazes his teeth lightly against Draco’s pulse, and Draco does a whole body shiver.

“Don’t do that.” Draco hisses, and Harry glares at the back of his head.

“Aamir did it.” He says bitterly.

Draco huffs in exasperation. “That was a game.”

“Oh? Is that what they call it these days?”

An elbow is thrown back into Harry’s stomach and he _oomfs_ hard.

Suddenly another voice pipes up in the darkness.

“Stop flirting with each other. It’s making me sick.”

Everybody jumps.

Harry squints in the low light. “Nott? Is that you.”

“And me.” Says a much quieter voice. Zabini.

“Bloody hell! What are you two doing here?” Weasley asks incredulously.

“We came to see the wizards duel.” Nott says imperiously. “And then we heard Filch coming so we fled into this room, when suddenly Weasley here followed, and then of course the rest of you.”

Someone scoffs. Shafiq.

The whole situation is starting to make Harry feel claustrophobic, and he wants out.

“Has Filch passed yet?”

“Shh!” Weasley snaps. “Not yet.”

Harry feels the creeping anxiousness, shortness of breath, and presses closer to Draco, almost nuzzling his neck, trying to inhale that calming citrusy scent he has.

_Don’t think about the cupboard. Don’t think about the cupboard. Don’t think about the cupboard._

“Oi! Don’t get so close -!”

“Draco,” Harry says, his voice cracking, and Draco immediately understands. He throws a hand back, searching for Harry’s, and Harry grabs it as quick as a lifeline, pressing impossibly closer to Draco.

“Are you oka-?“

Something smacks Harry on the back of the head, _HARD_, and Harry sees stars for an instant, before blinking them away and turning his head to find the culprit. His nostrils flare when he sees Aamir staring back at him, amber eyes still dangerously bright in the dark.

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but what comes out is a growl.

But it’s not his growl.

Everyone freezes.

“What was that?”

“Nott was that your stomach?”

_Smack_. And then, finally, someone casts

“Lumos.”

And there, staring back at them, is a three headed beast, its lips curled back in a snarl.

They all scream.

The door bursts open and everybody goes running in different directions, trying to get as far away from the thing as possible.

“-what in the bloody-“

“-HELL!-“

_“-porcoddio!”_

When Harry deems he is at an appropriate distance, he bends over and takes gulping breaths, only to find Weasley besides him. He locks eyes with him.

“What…was that?”

“I have…no…idea.” Is Weasley’s ragged reply.

And then, straight from the depths of hell, another voice –

“What is this indeed?”

A voice belonging to Anton Muller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall i have a serious fear that this work is gonna be super long  
like i have a million characters and ideas that havent even happened yet  
there are six more books i still have to write yall 😭


	13. Forbidden Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its been so long! wanted to finish a WIP thats shorter than this so its been taking up my time :,(
> 
> in other news!! please enjoy this beautiful fan art from vinsmokesgold!! i posted the link down below!! cant tell you how fucking touched i was by this 😭😭😭

[Fan Art](https://www.dropbox.com/s/9lzdbymjcso9s1d/IMG_20191223_123753%20%282%29.jpg?dl=0)

“If it isn’t Thing One and Thing Two.” Muller drawls, flashing a nasty grin.

Harry turns, prepared to run away, and instead runs straight into Shivani Banerjee’s waiting arms.

Shivani flicks him on the forehead, and grins when Harry flinches. His eyes seem somewhat glazed.

“Not so fast, little one.” He says, before forcing Harry’s arms behind his back.

Besides him, Jae-ho Park hasn’t even bothered to grab Weasley, simply casting a charm that makes him freeze in place.

Jae-ho is the only one out of all of them that isn’t smiling.

“What are you doing here?” Harry snarls.

Muller raises an eyebrow. “Me? I think we oughta be asking _you_ that question, Black. I’m here with a prefect, simply making sure firsties like you aren’t snooping around where they don’t belong.”

“We got lost.” Harry spits, even though he knows Muller won’t believe him.

He doesn’t.

“A likely story.” Muller smirks. “Strange that I haven’t seen the two of you around lately. It’s almost like you two know my _exact_ schedule and plan around it so you don’t run into me.”

Harry fears something like dread pooling at the pit of his stomach. Muller _knows_. He thinks he’s going to be sick. He throws a desperate glance at Jae-ho.

“Prefect Park,” he pleads, “you can’t let him do this. You’re a prefect. You’re supposed to _protect_ us.”

“Don’t talk to him.” Muller snarls, his face going dark. “Jae-ho doesn’t owe you anything. You’re a menace just like your _father _was a menace.”

And Harry is sick of hearing everybody comparing him to his ‘father,’ sick to death of the hate filled looks and scathing retorts, barely keeps from snarling –

“I am _NOT_ my father.”

Harry can feel the edges of his consciousness go black, feels something dark and ugly trying to force its way out of his body, so powerful and determined that Shivani almost loses his grip on Harry’s arms.

Muller blinks, looks surprised, then shakes his head in disgust.

“See? A menace. Makes sense, considering the way you were conceived.”

And this time nothing can stop the black from overpowering him, from overpowering Shivani’s grip, and before anyone can blink Harry has his wand out and pointed at Muller, Aamir’s dark curse from the train on his lips, but Muller casts an _expelliarmus_ before he can quite manage it.

Harry’s wand flies away from his hand.

“Shivani what _the fuck_ kind of potions are you on now?” Muller looks pissed. “Fucking addict,” he mutters under his breath, before stalking forwards and grabbing Harry by the shirt collar.

Harry snarls and throws out a hand to claw at him but Muller is twice his height and older and stronger and he stops Harry’s fist with a slap of his hand.

“Smug little bastard.” He sneers. “Never got taught a single lesson in your life, I bet. Never got the discipline of a belt against your back, I bet. Probably wouldn’t know what a hard life is even if it smacked you in the face.”

_Wrong, wrong, and wrong._ Harry thinks bitterly. _I know all too well what hard life can mean._

“But oh well.” Muller smiles again, his change in moods like the drop of a hat. “I’ll smack you enough times that maybe you’ll get the gist of it. I’ll _teach_ you what it means to earn your place.”

Then – a wide grin – almost grotesque in how it twists Muller’s face.

“And I think your first lesson should be in the Forbidden forest.”

Staring at the sharp edges of Muller’s jawline as he drags them across the pitch, Harry is suddenly reminded of something else Alex told him.

Weasley had already left and Alex had pulled him aside, his eyebrows creased.

“There’s another thing you have to watch out for, Aries.” He’d said, worry evident on his face. “Muller is an Alpha, so I’d be especially careful if I were you. When Alphas go into a rage, they break things.” He paused, then gave Harry a significant look. “They break people.”

Harry had barely understood then, but after Nott’s whole spiel on secondary genders, he was properly wary. Alex hadn’t mentioned anything about Shivani and Jay, so Harry figured they were both betas, and that the only problem would lie with Anton if things got out of control.

And speaking of, Harry still didn’t understand why Jae-ho was involved in all of this. He was a prefect and he had _loads_ of power. So why was he following Muller’s every whim? Why was he even friends with him? Their personalities themselves were _vastly_ different.

“Keep your eyes in front of you.” Muller mutters when he catches sight of Harry staring at Jay. He gives Harry his movie star smile.

“Wouldn’t want you to break a leg when there are _soooo_ many other pieces of you that we’re going to break.”

Ron whimpers, and Muller rolls his eyes.

“Merlin, do you ever shut up? You’re almost a proper pureblood you know? And yet you keep on pathetically mewling while half-blood Aries here hasn’t even made a single peep.”

A thought occurs to Harry. He looks at Muller suspiciously.

“Why were the three of you up there anyway?”

Muller sneers. “Are you a half-wit as well as being a half-blood? I already told you Black – to keep out nosy firsties like you.”

Harry grits his teeth. “I know that but why? What’s so special about the third corridor? And why’s there a three headed dog in a hidden room?”

Muller stops so suddenly that Harry bumps into him, hard. Muller whirls around, suspicion in his gaze.

“How do you know about the three headed dog?”

Muller’s eyes are lasers, boring into Harry’s skin. He blinks.

“We hid from Filch in the room where the dog was. We saw him with our own eyes.”

And all of a sudden Muller bursts out laughing, loud, barking laughter, that brings tears to his eyes. He looks at Harry with something like amusement. He slaps Harry’s cheek playfully.

“Sneaky, sneaky, little first year. My, what a nosy kid you are.” He laughs again, as if he can’t believe it. “Maybe I should tell you then? As a reward, since you already found Fluffy?”

_Fluffy?_ Harry thinks incredulously. _What an ill-fitting name._

“Well, let me tell you then.” Muller smiles conspiratorially. “That _dog_-“

“Anton.”

It’s just one word, but it’s sharper than a whip. It belongs to Jay.

Muller gives an easy smile. “Oh come on, Jae-ho. You really think they’d be able to get it even if they knew?”

“It isn’t your secret to give away, though, is it?” Jay says calmly, almost off handedly, but there is something hard behind it, something decidedly _not_ throw away.

Shivani looks between the two of them nervously, the clench in Anton’s jaw, the coolness in Jay’s face, like he’s afraid somethings going to happen, like something’s going to break, but nothing does.

Anton just clicks his tongue in annoyance and grabs Harry tighter.

His smile is forced when he speaks again.

“Guess you won’t ever find out, Black.” He says. “But it doesn’t matter anyway because we have more important things to attend to.” Another tight smile. “Like your punishment.”

The Forbidden forest looms on the edges of Hogwarts like an evil shadow. It’s dark and menacing and Harry can see why it’s called the Forbidden forest. It looks like it holds many things, and none of them nice. It seems like light is a foreign entity to the forest, and even the moon can’t shine through the thick foliage of the trees, which are almost as high as skyscrapers. There are noises in it too, that Harry fails to recognize.

What he does manage to recognize is how his heart starts to beat faster in fear.

Muller casts Lumos when they enter and the shadows it casts look insidious, look like malicious creatures that are alive. Muller then brings out a rope, and begins to tie Harry to a tree.

The panic resurges in Harry, and he feels feral.

“You can’t do this.” He sneers, struggling against the bindings. “Dangerous creatures live here, I could _die_. Weasley could die. You would be in a bollocks-load of trouble.”

Muller doesn’t seem moved. He raises an eyebrow as if to say, _so what?_

“I seem to recall we had a similar conversation before. Where you said I couldn’t do something, and I did it anyway?” Muller flashes his white smile, even brighter than the lumos. “Just be thankful I didn’t bring you out on a full moon. You’d really be dead then.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry spits out, fear bleeding into anger. “Who cares if I’m not really pureblooded. Is that really enough reason for me to die?”

Muller ignores him, still focused on tying him to the tree. He says instead

“You know someone left me in a forest once? When I was the same age as you, in fact. And they were a lot meaner, a lot more heavy handed than I’m being now. So, you know, a little gratefulness goes a long way, Black.” Muller grins. “Especially when I hold your life in my hands.”

Harry spits in his face. “Fuck you.” He snarls, but Muller seems unimpressed. He wipes the spit of his face with a finger, and gives Harry a dead eyed look.

“Classy.” He says flatly. “Very classy.”

But Harry doesn’t care what Muller has to say about him, spits at Shivani, spits at Jay as well.

“Fuck you,” He continues, and then looks at Jay, sneering “-and fuck _you _especially. You’re a piece of shit.” He snarls. “You’re a prefect who supposed to uphold the rules but instead you bend over backwards for elitist pureblood bullies.”

And Harry’s head snaps to the side with the force in which Muller hits him.

“_Don’t._” It’s more of a snarl than a word. Sounds like it’s coming out of an animal rather than an actual human being. “You can talk shit about me, and you can talk shit about that bloody potions freak Banerjee, but talk shit about Jae-ho and you’re _dead_, Black. I seriously mean it.” Anton grabs him by the jaw roughly, edges his face into Harry’s. His canines glint dangerously in the moonlight. No movie star smile now. Just an Alpha’s face twisted in anger.

“Do. You,” he enunciates slowly, “_Understand?”_

Harry sinks his teeth into Muller’s hand and bites. _Hard._

Muller curses and jumps away Harry, holding his bloody hand. He laughs all of a sudden.

“You’re _CRAZY_, Black!” he says with a manic smile on his face, the moon in his eyes. “Seriously, **_crazy_**!”

The blood drips from his hand in a small but constant stream and Shiv throws up in the bushes. Jay on the other hand unknots his tie and throws it to Muller, rolling his eyes.

“You know,” Muller continues, wrapping the tie around his hand, which dyes the green velvet a violent red, “if you weren’t what you were, Black, I think we would’ve been really great friends. I think we would’ve got on smashingly.” Muller sighs, giving him one last look, before turning away.

“Such a shame.”

They’re all on their way to the common rooms when Draco notices. He stops immediately, turning every which way like a mad man, before asking

“Where’s Aries?”

Zabini turns. Nott turns. Aamir sighs.

“I thought they were right behind us,” Nott says, somewhat bewildered. “I could’ve sworn…” He shrugs, seemingly bored. “Must have gotten caught. Not very Slytherin of them.”

Ron maybe. Harry? No way. There’s a reason why _he_ got into Slytherin. He’s a conniving little snake. He even has everybody fooled he’s the lost Black Heir, and _not_ the Boy Who Lived.

No, if Harry is missing, more sinister forces are at work.

Anton _Muller_ forces.

Draco still remembers their first night here. The only difference now is that Harry saved his life on the quidditch pitch. And he really _does _owe him this time.

“I’m going back to the third floor.”

Nott frowns. “Now _that’s _not very Slytherin of you, either. Remind me, Malfoy, don’t you hate Black? Didn’t he, and I’m really just spit balling here, _steal your rightful Black fortune?_”

Aamir’s amber eyes drill holes into Draco’s.

“Yeah, Draco, I thought we all hated Black?”

“I don’t hate, Black.” Zabini says casually.

“I wasn’t talking to you, though, was I, Zabini?” Aamir replies coolly, but his eyes flash a dangerous amberlike gold.

“Well,” Zabini replies, just as cool, his eyes pure black, “when you say ‘We’, you see, you implicate-“

“Implicate?” Aamir cuts in sharply. “Implicate? Like the way you implicated your way into this conversation? Or the way you implicated I killed your senile mutt of a dog that was practically blind in both eyes?” Aamir gives an ugly laugh. “Oh _wait._ You didn’t imply that, did you? You went behind my back to say it straight to Draco’s face when we were fighting, because you thought you _might_ stand a chance then, because you were _jealous_-“

“I was jealous?” Zabini says incredulously. “_I_ was jealous?” His eyes darken considerably. “Oh that’s rich. That’s really, really, _rich-“_

Draco throws his hands up in annoyance. “Okay, while you two keep flighting like blithering idiots, I’m going to find Aries and Ron. Have fun.” Draco says sarcastically, muttering under his breath, “_prats_.”

Draco’s on the moving staircase when Aamir catches up to him.

“You weren’t _really _going to leave me behind with Zabini and Nott, were you?”

“I don’t know, Aamir.” Draco snaps in annoyance. “You were acting like a bloody prat, so yeah, maybe I was.”

Aamir glares. “That’s not fair. It’s _Zabini._ He started it.”

Draco barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “Oh, because he said he liked Black? Yeah, that’s definitely a ‘_your mum’s a slag’_ if I ever heard one.”

Aamir scoffs. “You _know_ he only said that because he knew it would get under my nerves. As if anyone in Slytherin actually _likes _Black. Liking him is accepting the fact that you’ll be a social pariah for life.”

Draco frowns, feeling uneasy. “It can’t be that bad.”

Aamir looks at him like he’s stupid. “But it _is_. Do you know how much shit Flint got into for making Black seeker? You know what that psycho Gryffindor Bobby Mac and his group of thugs did? They attacked him in the bathroom. Luckily, Marcus is a pretty big guy, and Kristjan Becker was there too, so it evened out, but _still_. Nobody in Slytherin talked to Flint for a week. His own _father_ was threatening to disown him. Lucky for Marcus though, he’s the only son of the Flint family.”

Draco feels sick. “I just don’t get it, why-?”

“These are new times, Draco.” Aamir looks at him seriously. “These are the times after _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_. And Aries is a living reminder of one of his most loyal followers. Like, literally. He looks exactly like Sirius Black. Being friends with Aries Black is political _suicide_.”

Draco scoffs, annoyed with all the doom and gloom.

“You’re acting like this is all life or death when really, Aamir, you just don’t like Aries.”

A strange look passes over Aamir’s face.

“You say that as if you _don’t_.”

Draco splutters, feels his cheeks heat up. “Don’t be _ridiculous_, Aamir.” He snaps. “Of course I don’t like Aries. But I owe him a life debt and-“

A flash of something in the window. Another flash. Draco looks out and sees billowing dark robes, one after the other, walk across the quidditch field. Two people he doesn’t recognize, Muller, Ron, and

_Harry._

“There they are.” Draco says, a bad feeling in his stomach. “I knew Muller had them.”

_“Muller?”_ Aamir says incredulously. “Are you kidding me? You think you can save Black from the clutches of Anton Aldrich Muller? I take back what I said – you really _are _suicidal.”

“Oh, shut up.” Draco snaps. “Stop being a bloody Gryffindor, Aamir. I’m not going to save him. I’m going to strategically take him out of harm. There’s a big difference. One way is stupid and thoughtless and the other requires logic. You know,” Draco sniffs, “like _most_ Slytherin plans do.”

“It doesn’t _sound _very Slytherin,” Aamir says, voice casual, but Draco knows better. “Saving someone you supposedly _hate_.”

Draco turns on his heel and sneers.

“Aamir, I’m all about passive aggressiveness, being in Slytherin and all, but I swear sometimes you drive me up the fucking wall with your bullshit. So you’re either with me, or against me, but say one more thing and I’m hexing your balls off.”

“I swear on Merlin’s beard if I die I’m bringing you with me.”

Draco barely keeps from screaming. “Aamir,” he says sweetly, trying his best not to snap, “didn’t I warn you about opening your mouth?”

“Frankly, _Draco_, I don’t care about you hexing my balls off if I’m not alive long enough to use them.” Aamir pauses, and looks at him. “You do realize that’s the forbidden forest, right? And that it’s night time? And that we’re probably going to die?”

_Worst. Pep talk. Ever._ Note to self – never bring Aamir on high stakes life endangering missions – he is the _worst _cheerleader.

“You do realize,” Draco continues sweetly, “that if you say something as condescending as that to my face ever again, I’ll kill you before the forbidden forest does, right?”

“Noted,” Aamir says, casually as ever, and Draco wants to throttle him.

They’ve barely reached the edge of the forest when they catch sight of Muller and his trio; Draco and Aamir both immediately hiding in the bushes.

Muller is standing close to someone, their heads bowed together, watching something, and Draco almost gasps when he sees the face of prefect Park.

Park casts a charm on Muller’s hand and Muller hisses.

“Shit,” Muller curses, glaring at the other boy. “Be a little more gentle next time, Jay. That hurt.”

Park sighs but it seems more endearing than annoyed.

“You shouldn’t have grabbed him like that. That Black is wild. You should’ve known he’d try something.”

“He shouldn’t have talked about you like that,” Muller mutters, and there is a strange glow in Jae-Ho Park’s eyes, one Draco has never seen before in the halls or at their pureblood parties, gone so fast Draco’s sure he’s imagined it.

Shivani Banerjee brings up the rear, another frequenter of pureblood parties, and a face Draco easily recognizes, though now it seems his eyes are glazed, and his skin pale. He looks sick. He says

“You shouldn’t have done that,” but Draco’s not sure if he’s talking to Muller or Park.

It leaves Draco with a bad taste in his mouth.

As soon as the trio is gone, Draco and Aamir follow they way they came and finally find Harry and Ron. It takes a long time and a dangerous dive into the Forbidden forest but they manage it. Draco almost collapses in relief when he sees them. He was about ready to give up because every minute longer they spent in the forest was a minute closer to never getting out.

“Thank Morgana’s tits,” Aamir sighs, and Draco almost laughs out of pure hysteria. Both Harry and Ron seem to be passed out and tied to ginormous gnarled sycamore trees.

“You get Weasley and I’ll get Black,” Draco says firmly, and misses the weird look Aamir sends his way.

Draco’s heart lurches when he sees the bruise blooming on the side of Harry’s face, the same shape as Muller’s hand. There’s also blood on his lip but it doesn’t seem to be his own.

_“Laxo,”_ Draco whispers, and the ropes fall at Harry’s feet, Harry practically falling into his arms.

“Ugh,” Draco groans, “you’re heavier than I thought.”

And Harry’s eyes flicker open, dazed and confused, but still a night sky blue, and not emerald green.

“Angel,” Harry mutters, his eyes shutting close again. “You look like an angel.”

Draco’s eyebrows crease in puzzlement. _What in the world…? What’s an angel?_ Draco’s eyebrows crease further. _Is Black insulting me right now?_

Harry’s eyes open again and he reaches for Draco’s hair. “Hair like a halo.” He stares intently at Draco’s face. “Face like…like…heaven.” He sighs and closes his eyes again, fitting his face into the crook of Draco’s. “Smells so good, my guardian angel…mine.”

_Mine_. Now that’s a word Draco can understand. His face heats.

“Aamir,” he whispers intently, “I think there’s something wrong with Aries. He saying gibberish words.”

Aamir, on the other hand, is busy slapping Ron awake. He pauses.

“What’d he say?”

Draco bites his lip. “He called me angel. Do you know…? Since your – I mean – since Alex is muggleborn…?

Luckily, Aamir doesn’t seem too upset by the mention of his brother’s name. His eyebrows furrow for a second, thinking.

“It does seem familiar…hmm…angel…angel…_oh_.” Aamir’s eyes light up. “It’s a name for those fugly looking small mutt dogs, you know? I heard it once in muggle London. The lady kept yelling it at her dog that looked like a rat. I’m pretty sure it’s an insult.”

Draco’s face heats again, but this time for a different reason. Angel. _Angel._ You dare call me angel, Black? After I saved your life? You _dare _insult me?

_Whatever, _Draco thinks in annoyance. _The sooner we get out of this forest the sooner my life debt to you is done with. We never have to speak again._

Something wet brushes Draco’s arm and he startles. It’s when he looks down that he notices that Harry’s wrists are bloody raw. Like he tried his best to shimmy his arms down to reach the wand Muller left in his boot.

“Shit,” Draco curses, and Aamir looks up from slapping Ron. “His wrists are bleeding, bad, Aamir. We gotta take him to Madam Pomfrey’s. Like right now.”

Aamir stares at him, his eyes cold. “What the fuck are you on about?” He snaps, and Draco flinches, not expecting Aamir’s harsh tone. “Are you bloody _mental?_ How are we going to explain this, huh? Tell Madam Pomfrey we followed Muller to the Forbidden forest because we wanted to save a half blood and a blood traitor?” Aamir bares his teeth in an ugly snarl. “_A_, she’ll never believe us against _Muller_, and _B,_ we’ll get into trouble for being in the forest in the first place. My father will kill me, Draco,” Aamir says, his eyes feverish. “He’ll _kill _me.”

“Shit,” Draco curses again, his hands shaking because he knows Aamir’s right, and he knows Aamir’s father, who’s even worse than Draco’s. “Shit, I’m sorry, Aamir, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Let’s get out of this forest first and then –“

A howl tears itself into night sky. First, just one, and then a whole group of them. Shivers crash down the length of Draco’s spine. Aamir’s eyes lock with his, terror blowing his pupils wide.

“Draco,” he says under his breath, “there’s something wet under their ears.”

Draco can only blink in confusion, his mind playing the howls on repeat.

“What?”

“Under. Their. Ears.” He says through gritted teeth, jaw twitching.

And Draco, mind still blank with the howls, mechanically presses a finger under Harry’s ear, feels something wet and goopy come off from it. He blinks.

“Do you smell that?” Aamir asks, something like dread in his voice, and Draco’s heart sinks, because he does.

How stupid was he, to think that all Muller and them would do was tie Ron and Harry to a tree in the Forbidden forest? No, that’s not messed up enough. That’s not _dangerous_ enough for them. No, they had to add -

“Alpha hormone.” Draco says despondently.

Alpha hormone, which is used most often to hide omegas, to make them smell like pure, 100% testosterone, uncontested Alphas. A warning though, always on the back of every Alpha hormone, is not for use in the wild, because feral wolves can smell it from miles away, and they take it as a challenge.

A challenge for a fight to the death to see who is the true Alpha.

Aamir curses, slaps Ron a little too hard, but Draco is numb, frozen, can only hear, on repeat –

The howls, moving closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont think hermione is going to be in this one...we will see its all tbd. she might be in the work after this one...
> 
> also, any tags I should add?


	14. Howling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kind of had this done middle of february but i felt bad bc it was only 2,000 something words so i added more stuff and yeah. dont be too mad at me lol.

“I’m not dying for a bloody Weasley.” Is the first thing Aamir snarls to him when they hear the howls.

“You think I _want_ to die for a Weasley?” Draco sneers back, the back of his neck sweating from nerves, his mind a whirlwind of trying to find out what to do next.

“Want to or not, it’s what’s going to happen to us because you had to be nosy and follow Anton Muller - of _all _people - into the bloody woods. And now I’m going to die, and it’s going to be all your fault, and I swear on Merlin’s beard I will never let you forget it-“

_“Shut up, Aamir_!” Draco snaps, his mind a mess. “Just shut. Up. For one bloody second. Let me think.”

And Aamir, miraculously, closes his mouth, a glare on his face.

_Spells, spells, there are so many spells for this but Draco hasn’t learned them yet, Merlin’s beard, maybe another spell, maybe not something suited for this situation but close? Like maybe that one or this one or_

“Ebrius est.” Draco whispers under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Ebrius est!” Draco says again, laughing.

Aamir frowns. “Isn’t that a hangover cure?”

“Yeah, but it wakes you up, doesn’t it? And it’s the best I have unless you want to die.”

Aamir frowns again.

“Why do you know a spell to cure a hang over but not one that could help us in this situation? Seems like messed up priorities to me.”

Draco has to bite his tongue from saying anything scathing.

“First of all, it _is_ going to help us in this situation, and I only know it because my mother uses it on my father a lot. So why don’t you shut up and cast it already so we can leave!”

Aamir gives him a nasty glare before casting, and then Draco does it as well on Harry, biting his lip so hard it bleeds, hoping, hoping on Merlin’s beard that it works and –

Harry throws up.

_Ten hells. Draco forgot about that part._

“DRACO!” Aamir yells outrageously, having been unlucky enough to have Ron throw up all over his robes.

Harry opens the one eye that isn’t swollen shut.

“What…where…?” Through groggy, he seems more awake than when Draco pulled him off from the tree.

Draco’s eyes burn into Harry’s.

“Listen Harry,” he whispers, so that Aamir doesn’t here, “you have to wake the fuck up unless you want to get eaten by a pack of wolves. Anton put alpha hormone and that’s like putting a sign on your head saying ‘kill me kill me!’ Do you understand?” Draco slaps him when he starts to nod off again. _“Do you understand?”_

Harry stares at him with those false blue eyes. “You’re saving me? Why?”

Draco doesn’t know why he feels embarrassed. He gives his nastiest snarl to cover it up.

“I’m not _saving_ you, idiot. I’m paying back a blood debt.”

And that’s when the first wolf breaks through the trees.

Weasley screams bloody murder. Aamir sticks his wand out, casts, and then misses spectacularly.

Draco feels his heart drop to his throat. He aims without thinking.

“Flipendo!”

The wolf is knocked into one of the trees, collapsing on the forest grounds unconscious. Still, Draco can hear more howls far closer than they should be, and he turns to Aamir.

“We have to run.”

Aamir looks at him, his eyes a wild gold. “Are you _crazy?_ We’ll never outrun a pack of wolves!”

“You can’t bloody aim, Aamir!” Draco yells. “And I can’t keep a bloody pack of wolves at bay by myself!”

Aamir’s jaw is clenched. Something flashes in his eyes like lightning.

“I can do it. I can do it I swear –“

“No, Aamir.” Draco feels tired. “You’re lying to me. Again. There’s something really wrong with your eye, and unless you want to tell me what it is, we’re running.”

Draco waits. Aamir stares at him, a storm in his eyes, but doesn’t open his mouth.

Draco shakes his head. “That’s what I thought. You take Weasley and I’ll take Black.”

They’re going their fastest through the woods, Draco struggling not to trip over the ginormous roots, Harry conscious by his side, but only barely, one arm slung around Draco so he can support him as they run, when two other wolves break through the trees, Draco hearing before he sees it, their feet digging into the ground like an earthquake.

“Harry you have to move faster!” Draco snaps, Harry slowing down their pace.

Harry bites into his lip, his jaw tight. “I’m trying.” He spits out. “I have a splitting head ache because of that spell you cast.”

“Well it was the only thing that could wake you up! I didn’t have to save you, you know!”

“You said you did, though, so don’t expect a thank you or anything. And you haven’t saved me yet.”

Draco barely keeps from screaming.

“You are so BLOODY annoy-“

But Draco doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence.

Because another wolf bursts through the trees and tears them apart.

One swipe of the wolf’s paw and Draco’s back hits a tree, the air rushing out of him that for a second he can’t breathe.

There are stars everywhere. In his head. On the back of his eyelids. Coming out his ears. Draco is dazed. The back of his head feels wet. He blinks slowly, the image of a wolf coming closer, of its snout in his face, of its teeth bared, and he blinks again, and this time it’s all clear, not at all blurry, can smell it’s wet breath on his face.

He doesn’t see Harry anywhere.

_It got him, _he thinks hopelessly. _Damned alpha hormone. Is that him that I see there? Is he that chunk of meat stuck between this wolf’s teeth?_

The thought makes him sick, but he doesn’t move because he thinks any twitch of his finger will set the beast off, will blare alarms in its head that scream enemy and Draco will turn into just another hunk of meat stuck in between this monster’s sharp canines.

_I wanna see stars again_, he thinks. _How much I’d give for the throw to have killed me. How much I’d give to have the tree have turned my brains to pulp. Now this dog is going to tear into me alive._

And then the wolf stretches his mouth even wider, the chasm of his throat visible, and Draco knows it’s the end, knows this beast is going to tear his head right off, and that’s when the shaking begins.

It’s barely noticeable at first. Draco thinks he’s the one shaking, trembling, but it’s actually the ground. A vibration in the dirt, a hum. He can see the pebbles and twigs and leaves all bouncing slightly, something underneath making them jump. And then the tree behind him starts to shake. And then all the trees start to shake.

It’s a haunted sound. The creaking of those large, thick pines, as if they were saplings weak against the smallest wind. The moaning, and the swaying, and the branches rasping together, and you realize these trees are bending to something, these trees most likely more than eons old that have withheld storms and sieges and wars and time, shaking and bending and cowering to some unnamable thing.

And then everything in the forest is shaking so hard that Draco can barely hear his own thoughts. Even the wolf is shaking, vibrating, his eyes blown wide, something like alarm in them, his ears pointed high, twitching every which way, trying to find the source, no longer focused on Draco, and that’s when he sees it.

Sees him.

Harry, like a large plume of smoke in the distance, dark sky and dark eyes, and everything that nightmares are made of. There is something breaking under his skin, and it’s his bones, and it’s his face fracturing, shedding new skin for old, become tanner, hair more wilder, eyes more green.

He is twisting and cracking, pulled around by some invisible force, every part of him changing, every bone in him breaking, until he slams the ground and screams like knives are being torn out his throat and the whole world shifts before Draco’s eyes.

Harry on the brink of disappearing, black tar coming out of his mouth and forcing everything in the forest to squeeze in tight, drawing everything in, drawing Draco in, and the trees, and the wolf, and Draco feels like his insides are going to explode, feels like his guts are going to be pulled right out of him, and right when it’s at its worst, right when the pressure is at it’s highest, Harry screams again, a loud snap in his spine, and everything shatters, a rubber band pulled too tight snaps, and the wolf goes flying, his head bashing in across a big rock, blood splattering everywhere.

Draco throws up. His head is pounding. It felt like Harry was a magnet pulling every living thing in a five mile radius towards him, pressure unbearable, until he wasn’t.

_How did he even manage that?_ Draco thinks in a grisly type of awe. _He was half dead when I was carrying him how did he do all of that? Even more important – how was he able to do any of that at all?_

Harry is laying face down in the dirt when Draco reaches him like a broken puppet. There is blood coming out of his mouth, and Draco knows that no amount of hangover potion will wake him up so he throws one arm over Harry and tries to carry him the best he can, which is very slow, and not at all very convenient.

It is only when Draco has walked a bit farther out that he realizes the extent of Harry’s damage.

There, only a couple of paces ahead of them, are four wolves with their necks snapped, blood coming out of their ears like the pressure of Harry’s screams was enough to burst their brains.

XXX

“Where were you?” Aamir hisses once Draco reaches the pitch. “I thought you were dead. You took forever.”

_It took forever because I had to wait for Harry to turn into Aries again_, Draco thinks, but what he says is

“Aries passed out again.” Draco lies. “It took longer for me to carry him out of the woods.”

“What the hell happened in there? I heard the baying of the wolves getting closer each time and then they suddenly stopped. And then the forest went bat shit crazy.”

Draco shakes his head, can’t quite manage to look Aamir in the eye.

“I have no idea. Some storm or something – it scared off the rest of the wolves and that’s why I was able to get back safely.”

Aamir stares at him without saying anything. He doesn’t believe Draco’s story, but he can’t find any other explanation for the shaking of the forest – that much is obvious. And he certainly doesn’t believe that Draco or Harry could’ve done it either, so he has to accept Draco’s lie.

“Fine. I think you’re lying – but fine. Now I say we ditch these two here and go back to our own dorms. We’ve done our part. We’ve saved their worthless lives. They can get in trouble with Snape now for all I care.”

“No!” Draco hisses, maybe a bit too hastily.

Aamir’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”

“I mean what if they die in the middle of the night!” Draco knows Weasley certainly won’t, but he’s not too sure about Harry after what he did. Of course, if Aamir knew what had happen, he would probably agree with it, but Aamir can’t know. So obviously –

“Are you serious right now? They got tied up to a tree not tortured, Draco.” Aamir snaps. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Draco bristles at Aamir’s condescending tone.

“Listen, Aamir, I could care less about Weasel here but I’m not leaving Aries behind.”

And Draco realizes too late how it sounds because

“Oh, so it’s fine to leave Weasley behind but not Aries? And why is that, Draco, hm?”

Aamir’s golden eyes glint with suspicion.

He wants to tell Aamir _– its not like that. Harry is really messed up. Harry did some crazy magic in the woods and I think he’s on the brink of dying._

But he can’t tell Aamir because it’s not his secret to tell, and it could put Harry in danger, telling Aamir about his power and secret identity, especially when the two seem to really hate each other, and Aamir would most likely use that information against him.

Draco can't tell him any of it, so instead he goes on the defensive, which he does best and says

“Stop being a baby, Aamir. It doesn’t mean anything. I owe Black a life debt and I intend to repay it. In fact, since you seem so against it, why don’t you take him instead and heal him? I don’t care as long as my debt is repaid, and technically it still counts as saving him if I put Black in your capable hands.”

“What, you want me to take him to _my_ dorm? He doesn’t even _live_ in my dorm.”

Draco shrugs. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s more convenient if I take him. But if you’re so against me taking him…”

Aamir looks aghast. “I wasn’t against you taking him back to _your_ dorm. I just thought it was weird that you were so willing to help Black and not Weasley. But don’t think I’ll help you either. You can carry Aries back to Slytherin dorm on your own. It is _your_ life debt after all.”

And with that Aamir slinks into the shadows of the hall, leaving the three of them behind.

XXX

Draco leaves Weasley behind. It’s already hard enough just carrying Harry, so he doesn’t even bother entertaining the thought of carrying Weasley as well, even though they all live in the same dorm.

When they get there, Nott is still asleep, which makes their sneaking in less suspicious and less likely to be ratted on. Draco throws Harry onto his own bed, then digs around in his chest for the pureblood first aid kit his father gave him before leaving on the train to Hogwarts.

_For the kind of hurt that gets you in trouble when you go to the nurse_, his father had said.

And the kit did have a bit of everything. It had skele-gro and sleeping draught and a cure for boils and pepper up and murtlap essence and an antidote for common poison (because for some reason, father thought he was important enough to be assassinated). If Draco was being truly honest, the kit had a lot of potions that probably shouldn’t have been in the hands of an eleven year old boy like him.

The first thing Draco gives Harry is blood replenishing potion, as well as wound cleaning potion and a restorative draught. When he’s done with that he tries to clean up Harry as best he can with a wet rag, and casts a cooling charm on one of his shirts to try and stop Harry’s face from bruising too hard.

Overall, Harry has a lot of cuts and scratches all over his body, along with bruising on his knuckles and face. His wrists are rubbed raw and there are indents on his palm from where he drew blood clenching his fists too tight.

Honestly, it scares Draco, the amount of pain he holds in his body.

Too tired to move Harry out of his bed, he moves all his potions back into his kit and shoves them into his chest, before curling up beside him. Draco moves some hair out of his face to check on the swelling and when it seems fine takes his hand away.

“How is it possible that so many people wish you dead,” Draco mumbles under his breath before closing the curtains around his bed and falling asleep.

XXX

_A wolf edging closer to its prey…and closer and closer…to a boy with white hair the color of star light…edging closer…and closer…and –_

“NO!” Harry gasps waking up from his dream, sitting straight up.

His heart is beating harder than a racehorse runs but he can feel the rest of his fear slowly drain away as he realizes he’s alive and most importantly –

Draco.

He’s only turned his head a bit when he catches sight of white blond hair. Draco Malfoy is dead asleep besides him, lashes a dark contrast against his pale cheeks, looking far more innocent than he actually does.

_I saved your life again_, Harry thinks bitterly_. I saved your life again and almost killed myself in the process. When will I ever learn?_

But Draco…Draco is the one who saved him in the first place, isn’t he? The thought makes his stomach feel funny, and Harry edges closer to Draco when he thinks he sees an eyelash on his cheek.

_What was that saying…? A fallen eyelash is a wish…? Funny that he has dark eyelashes and not blond…I was expecting blond…up close he’s even paler than you originally think…but he’s always pink around the cheeks for some reason…and so are his lips…like cotton candy-_

Draco yawns and Harry almost falls off the bed from how fast he throws himself back.

Flustered, he can’t help but snap.

“Why am I in your bed?”

Draco frowns, annoyed. “Are we really going to do this? After I saved your life?”

“That’s not answering my question.”

“Fine.” Draco snaps waspishly. “You know Aamir wanted to leave in the hall outside the pitch? Where you would most likely be found by Filch, that is, if you didn’t bleed to death first? So I decided to carry you all the way back to Slytherin dorm, by myself I might add, and without getting caught, to make sure you were alright. And then I fell asleep. Boo hoo.”

Which, when Draco puts it like that, makes Harry feel bad, but -

“But still –“ He starts, ready to protest in order to protect his pride, when he feels something like a bulldozer ramming into his head.

Harry holds his head in his hands. “Morgana’s tits,” he groans, and Draco is quick to crowd around him.

“Hey, hey take it easy, this is why I told you you shouldn’t be getting upset –“ Draco clucks while he runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair.

“God it hurts,” Harry groans as the bulldozer hits his brain again.

“I think I have a headache potion somewhere here hold on –“

The curtains to Draco’s bed are pulled wide open and lo and behold there is suspicious Nott, his eyes lighting up with glee when he catches Harry and Draco together.

“Getting cozy, huh?” He says, lips pulled in a smug smile. “I wonder what Aamir would have to say about that.”

“Shut your bloody mouth, Theo.” Draco snaps. “Unlike you, I had to make sure Aries hadn’t died last night.”

Nott shrugs. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have challenged someone obviously superior to you in a seeker’s game and wound up with a life debt. Not my fault you’re stupid.”

Draco throws one of his wooden chests at Nott.

“Get out, Nott, and go bother someone else!” He snarls.

“I would if there was anybody else here!” Nott calls back, and Draco simply sneers.

“Merlin he is a _plague._” Draco mutters, before handing Harry the headache potion.

Harry downs it and the relief is instant. Draco is still running his hand up and down Harry’s back. He tsks and says

“See? You feel better don’t you? Aren’t I so very nice? This is why everyone should bow down to the great and benevolent Draco of Prattish Manor –“

“Oh sod off,” Harry says, elbowing Draco in the ribs, but his tone lacks any hostility, and truth be told he’s barely keeping from laughing.

But then Draco’s smile goes from open to uncomfortable, like he’s about to say something Harry doesn’t like, and the feeling goes away quickly.

“Harry,” Draco murmurs under his breath, “what was that last night?”

Harry feels his guard go up. His face goes blank.

“What do you mean?”

“The things you do…that you did last night. It’s not normal. Not even for a wizard. And even though it saved us - what you did was dangerous. Not just for me but for you. I don’t think shapeshifting like that all the time is safe.”

_It’s not normal? What I did?_ But truth be told Harry doesn’t really remember what he did. He just remembers the pain of transforming into his true body, and the way it felt like control was being taken from him. He knows he did something to keep the wolves away, otherwise they wouldn’t be alive, but he passed out from the pain afterward so how is he supposed to know?

_Blond hair…the color of starlight…the brightest thing in the forest…and a blackhole swallowing up that light…a hulking figure with red eyes and sharp teeth…a wolf…and anger…and anger…and anger…and **fury**_

_FEAR_

_That something is being taken from him._

A headache splits his brain apart once again and Harry groans, cradles his head in his hand.

Draco lifts a hesitant hand to place on his back and Harry snaps.

“Don’t touch me.” He snarls. “You think I don’t know what I did was dangerous? I would stop it if I could control it. But I can’t. When that stuff overtakes me it’s hard to come back. It feels like I’m dying. So sorry,“ he adds sarcastically, “if I scared you.”

Draco makes a pained expression. “Harry that’s not what I mean. I’m just worried –“

“-about what could’ve happened to you, I know.” Harry cuts in sharply. “Well you don’t have to worry anymore.” He says bitterly. “You paid your life debt. I’ll be out of your hair now.”

Draco’s face colors. He looks like he’s about to explode.

“You are seriously such a BIG drama queen! I was just trying to help -!”

“Don’t you DARE call ME a drama queen! Not when you’re the one pouting all the time to Aamir! ‘_Aamir, my soup is cold! Aamir, Harry’s bothering me again!’”_

“I do not POUT to Aamir, Harry! Your are such a BLOODY liar!”

“Crockpot! Utter crockpot! You are ALWAYS complaining to him about something or another, bothering him to fix your problems, because you can’t fix them YOURSELF-“

Draco throws a tube of wrackspurt cream at Harry’s face.

“Get out.” He says, quietly fuming. “You don’t want my help? Fine. Be a baby. But get out of my bed.”

“Gladly.” Harry sneers, almost tripping on Draco’s hellishly long curtains in his haste.

But who cares. Harry’s better off without Malfoy anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTICE  
updating once a month from now on (school is HECTIC)  
possibly looking into a beta reader/editor? anyone who would be interested?


	15. Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRRYYY  
There are several reasons for my hiatus with this work. Mostly, I was burnt out. I needed to work on something new. This work especially is so very kiddy and i like my works to be dark and edgy and fucked up. And I know it’s bc they’re literally kids but it was hard when the material I wanted to work on was more serious. I’ve made this fic as dark as I can for a kid fic but in the end they’re all still 11 year olds. So I got sick of it. I worked on other things. But I'm back now.  
Another reason I probably pulled the brakes on this was because this series was the first thing I’ve ever written in my life. The Black heir was my very first work. I couldn't imagine myself going beyond 40000 words. But I’ve gone past it in another work and I think I'm ready to break that record again.  
Because TRFI is gonna be kinda long. Like, at least past 90000 long. I have so many subplots and other characters in this work and I don't know why I did that to myself lmao.  
Anyway, all my other works are at a good stopping place and I will be focusing all my attention on this work. Still, school starts next week so we’ll see how that goes.

The whole dorm room is getting ready to go to class when the door bursts open and a furious Weasley comes plowing through. He points an accusing finger at Harry who has jumped out of the bathroom as if someone were robbing the place, his eyes a live-wire blue.

“You.” Weasley says, face a mottled red as he points at Harry. “You were the reason I was dragged down there.”

Harry looks bewildered to say the least. Draco has to keep from laughing, until Weasley turns his accusing finger on him.

“And you, you bloody death eater, you _left_ me there! I got caught by Filch I’ll have you know. Now I have to serve detention with Snape. Snape!”

“I couldn't carry the two of you, idiot.” Draco snaps back, patience wearing thin for such a loud ruckus in the morning, especially when the loud ruckus is Weasley. “And out of the two of you, Black is the one built like a stick.”

Snickers all around the room. Only Harry is unamused, sending Draco a death glare.

“Should we really be talking about my weight right now?” Harry says. “When Draco is the one who weighs less than a girl?”

Cue Nott’s chortling laughter. “He got you there, Malfoy!”

Draco feels his face go hot. “Only if you're talking about Millicent Bulstrode! And that’s because she weighs the same as a whale. She barely counts as a girl.”

But the dorm only keeps laughing, even Weasel has joined in, his face red now for an entirely different reason, laughing away like it’s the end of the world.

“Prats,” Draco hisses, pushing his way past Harry roughly, carrying his bag of products with him.

“Hey!” Harry snaps, no longer laughing.

But Draco only sticks his tongue out at him and continues to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Insufferable babies.” Draco mutters to himself in the mirror. “What an immature sense of humor,” he sniffs superiorly. “Is that the only insult they can think of, really? Girl?” He’s talking to himself in the mirror. “Do I even look like a girl? Do I act like one? No. The blubbering idiots.”

He reaches for the Victorian sterling silver brush in his bag and begins the tedious process of brushing his hair. Usually, he’ll brush his hair at least a hundred times to make it look soft and pillowy but today he just doesn't have the time.

“Shame, shame,” he murmurs to himself, before brushing his teeth and washing his face. He then reaches for gel to slick his hair back, to give himself a more authoritarian look.

“They ought to fear me like this,” Draco mutters under his breath, preening in the mirror. “Do I not look like someone to be afraid of?”

“No.” Harry says bluntly from a crack in the door.

Draco is so startled he drops his Victorian brush.

“ARIES!” He screeches.

Harry snorts. “Calm down, drama queen. I need to use the restroom.”

“How long have you been watching me?” Draco asks with a false sense of calm, heart in his throat.

Harry surprises him by not meeting his eyes. “Not long,” he mutters.

It sounds like a bloody lie. Draco feels like he’s about to explode.

“Do you get your rocks off watching other people in the bathroom?”

Harry looks up immediately, alarm in his eyes. “No! God, no, Draco, gross.”

“Then stop watching me over my bloody shoulder, Morgana’s tits!” Draco screams, whacking Harry with his bag of products.

“OW! Draco STOP! OW!”

“And don't EVER,” Draco says, still whacking Harry with his bag, “EVER, call me ANGEL AGAIN!”

Harry becomes mysteriously red at this and starts spluttering intelligibly.

“I didn't - I never - what-?”

“I am NOT a rat dog!”

This, if anything, only serves to make Harry’s face look more stupid and comical.

Draco shoves past him, a flood of ugly feelings surging in him like a dangerous tide.

He doesn't want to look at Harry right now.

“Get out of my way you ingrate,” he spits, and then he leaves for class.

-

Harry is not in the best mood when Draco leaves.

For one, his whole body is sore from the other night. Everything in him aches but he has too much pride to ask Draco for anything. Especially when Draco is back to sneering and demeaning him.

Harry is also on edge because of Anton. The lake was one thing, but this is another. Anton is no regular bully. The tricks he plays on Harry seem to be life or death. Harry thought after the lake Anton would have had his fill of danger, and stuck to more commonplace bullying, but it seems Anton has no intention of stopping his dangerous games if last night is to show for anything.

He must have done this to someone else. And if he did it to someone else, how could they have survived it? It’s impossible. He must have left a dead body. But if he killed someone, how come he’s still at Hogwarts?

There are a lot of questions on Harry’s mind about Anton, and it seems no one can answer them, because to most people Anton is more of a figure than a real person. The only people who REALLY seem to know him consist of his little duo of Shivani and Jae-ho.

So, when Harry steps out in the halls of Hogwarts, he does so with trepidation, anxious at any quick movement and watchful for any sign of the death eater trio.

He makes sure Weasley stays close to him as well, though Weasley doesn't need a lot of convincing to do so.

“There’s strength in numbers,” he tells Harry, his voice shaking, and even more afraid than Harry is.

When they see that crown of golden hair flash in the light of the window, Harry’s jaw clenches. He fists his wand at his side, ready to bring it out if Anton tries anything. Ron starts hyperventilating besides him.

“I think I- I think I'm going to pass out - or throw up - or both-”

“Will you shut up?” Harry sneers, still watching Anton like a hawk.

But Anton doesn't try anything. He only smiles his movie star smile, his teeth blinding. Besides him Shivani is laughing like a hyena at something Jae-ho has said, while Jae-ho turns his black eyes to watch Harry coolly.

For some reason, his blank gaze fills Harry with more dread than Anton’s.

-

Life for the next few weeks at Hogwarts is hell.

Anton doesn't do anything on the same level as his past two killer pranks, and though Harry is ever vigilant to prevent something like that happening again, lest he need help from Draco of all people, Anton still does things to make his life hell.

Mostly, it’s Anton and Shivani. They trip him in the halls and send stinging hexes his and Ron’s way and rip open their books bags so they lose them all over the floor. Sometimes they’ll even steal assignments off them, and it seems even Anton has heard of Snape’s enmity towards him because he makes sure to steal Potions assignments specifically.

Jae-ho watches all this, with that endless blank gaze of his, and Harry wonders what he’s doing with them.

Snape tears into him on a daily basis, and when it isn't potions, it's in the halls for walking too fast or walking too slow and taking house points away from him. One day, Snape simply takes points away from him because he doesn't like how Harry looks in his uniform.

“It looks like you just rolled out of bed,” he sneers, before taking away 20 points.

It seems Snape hates him so much, he’s willing to take away points from his own house to just punish him.

This does not endear Harry to his Slytherin classmates. They trip him and hex him almost as much as Anton and Shivani do.

Some days, it feels like the whole world hates him. Ron gets bullied too, but only by Anton and the baby death eaters. Harry gets bullied by everyone. People in the other houses curse at him, and spit obscenities about his father, and tell him to rot in hell. That he doesn't deserve to be here. That his mother should’ve killed him too when she committed suicide.

None of it is true, of course, but it hurts all the same. Harry feels himself drowning slowly in a black cloud. In his free time he goes back to the dorm and stares at the ceiling and pictures all the ways he would viciously kill Sirius if he could.

_I don't need anybody_, he thinks fiercely. _The whole world is against me, but it doesn't matter, because I don't need anybody. I have myself and that’s enough for me._

So instead of focusing on the bad thoughts, Harry plots.

He’s getting sick of the bullying from Anton and Shivani. Slytherin seems to take their cues from them, and if Anton bullies him and gets away with it, they feel like they can get away with it too.

_If I could just show them up someway_, Harry thinks viciously, _then I would be killing two birds with one stone._

But what can he do? He can’t snitch on them, because he has no proof, and even if he did have proof snitching wouldn't stop the bullying from his own house. The other Slytherins wouldn't respect something like that. They wouldn't fear something like that. Whatever he chooses to do, it has to be Slytherin enough to gain their respect.

-

Harry isn't really planning on going to his first quidditch practice, especially with everything on his plate, but Flint corners him in the hall and forces him to.

“I went to your dorm and you weren't there. I had a feeling you wouldn't show up to practice if I wasn't there to give you a guiding..._hand_.” Flint smiles, all teeth. “What luck I got, to find you here milling about in the halls, eh?”

“Yes,” Harry manages to grit out, neck throbbing uncomfortably from where Flint is manhandling him, “what great luck you got.”

When they get to the pitch Flint lets go of him, practically throwing him to the grass.

“I don't want to have to do that again.” He says neutrally, but his face is cold, a warning. “I got a lot of shit for putting you on this team, not only from the whole school but my parents. They don't think it’s a good message I'm sending out, especially in these times. My father’s running for office this year, you see. It doesn't look good that his son is ‘best mates’ with Mad Black’s son.”

“I didn't ask for this,” Harry manages to spit out. “I would’ve been fine not being on the team at all.”

Flint’s eyes narrow. “See, that’s your problem. You’re Slytherin, Black. Why don't you act proud to be one? You know how many firsties would die to be in your place? I know you got your father casting a black shadow over you, literally, but it's like you don't even try to get along. Being a seeker would be good for your reputation but you act like it’s such a fucking drag.”

Harry laughs something bitter and mean. “A black shadow? You think that’s all I got hanging over me? Try death sentence. And sorry if you don't like my attitude, but I really don't have time for this seeker stuff. Anton and his thugs turned all my homework into ash and I have to redo it all tonight if I want a chance at passing.”

Something in Flint’s face changes at the mention of Anton.

“Anton Muller?” He asks, somewhat incredulous. “I hear about that. I thought it was just a joke though…” He trails off, still staring at Harry.

“Yeah?” Harry asks sarcastically. “Well it isn't. Now if you'll excuse me-” Harry pushes past a surprised Flint and then practice begins and Flint can’t put another word in even if he wanted to.

-

“He wasn't even at tryouts,” Terrence Higgs complains as Flint calls out who’s playing first string this year.

Terrence Higgs has a little group around him which Harry assumes are friends, because they all glare at Harry like he’s stolen something that was rightfully Higg’s.

“Yeah?” Flint asks, unimpressed. “Well Terrence, you didn't see the one handed dive he did during flying lessons so your opinion is irrelevant. Also, I'm captain, so your opinion is doubly irrelevant.”

“Yeah?” Miles Bletchey mimics back sarcastically. “Well maybe you should be worried about other things, Flint. Like the fact his father went off his rocker and killed a thirteen people in the middle of the street. Like the fact Aries here might do the same.”

“Personally, I'm fine with it,” Adrian Pucey drawls. “Most of the people his father killed were mudbloods anyway. Are we really going to pretend he didn't do the world a great service?”

“My father would do the world a great service if he killed himself already,” Harry says darkly.

A chilled silence after that. Miles Bletchey gives Flint a look as if to say

_See? He’s off his rocker already._

Flint looks pissed off.

“Listen, is Aries Black our seeker, or Sirius Black? Why the fuck are we talking about his father? Last I checked, it wasn't Aries who killed those people. And if you're really that scared of a first year Bletchey, I suggest you transfer to Hufflepuff with all the rest of the cry babies. Otherwise, fucking suck it up, because I'm sick of losing the house cup to Woo-_Gryffindor_, and Black is our best chance at finally winning it. Got it?”

This seems to be a sore point for the Slytherin team because they all snarl back a fierce _Got it_, the flames of rivalry strong in their eyes.

Terrence Higgs knocks into Harry’s shoulder on his way to pick up his broom.

“I don't care what Flint says,” he mutters into Harry’s ear. “There’s a difference between flying during class and flying during a game. Just wait and see - you’ll choke. I'm sure of it. And then I’ll be seeker again, as it should be.”

Harry barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I hope I do choke. You think I wanna be seeker? Grow up, Higgs. I have more important things to do than playing with brooms.”

Terrence just scoffs. “Whatever you say, Black.”

They practice for little over an hour before the Gryffindor team gets on the pitch and Flint seems to turn an ugly shade of red at the sight of Oliver Wood.

“They always do this,” Pucey spits. “They always try to cut into our practice time. Prats.”

Bletchey wrinkles his nose. “Flint’s pissed, man. I can smell it. That fucking nasty Alpha smell. He’s letting his pheromones go all over the place.”

Harry sniffs, curious. “I don't smell anything,” he frowns.

Pucey seems to find something funny about this, because he laughs.

“Yeah, what are you, like ten?”

“I'm eleven,” Harry barely keeps from snarling, bristling at Pucey’s condescending tone. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You can’t smell pheromones until you get your secondary gender, _kid_.” Pucey smirks, emphasizing the kid. “Until then, you’re just like every other muggle off the street: can’t smell for shit.”

“Now if Wood was an Alpha, they’d be fighting right now,” Higgs says, eyes locked on the scene unfolding in front of them.

“What’s Wood’s, uh, secondary gender?” Harry asks. “Omega?”

Higgs lets out a startled laugh. “Omega? Are you crazy? If Wood was an omega he’d be baring his neck right now, whining, being all submissive and shit. Omegas can’t handle an alpha’s anger. They strive to please.”

Bletchey snorts. “And you would know this…how? It’s not like you’ve ever been with an omega.”

Snickers all around. Higgs flushes a bright red.

“Everybody _knows_. That’s just how an omega is.”

“But no one _really_ knows.” Bletchey repeats. “It’s not like any of us has seen an omega before.”

“What?” Harry blurts out, surprised. “You’ve never seen an omega before?”

Miles shrugs. “Not at school, at least. Omegas are rare, Black. Even rarer than alphas. And even if there was an omega at Hogwarts they’d probably in hiding. So we’d never know.”

A thoughtful silence falls over the group, still watching Flint and Wood argue, but the silence is broken when Flint shoves Wood backwards and a bunch of Gryffindor’s jump forward in defense.

“Fuck,” Bletchey curses before running to back Flint up. Pucey and Higgs run forward as well, and Harry decides to go too just because he’s curious.

Wood, thought almost the same height as Flint, is half his size. Flint towers over Wood menacingly, everything about him solid bulky muscle, but Wood doesn’t seem intimidated at all.

“For the last time, Marcus,” Wood glares, “We called this time. Take it up with Dumbledore if you got a problem. It’s not my fault you can't read.”

Snickers from the Gryffindor’s. Harry feels himself bristle.

Flint only grins something nasty. “You’re just scared, Wood. Scared because we got Black on our team. Scared you’re going to lose the cup this year, _to me.”_

Marcus moves in closer at his words, practically nose to nose with Oliver Wood. Neither of them break each other’s stares.

“Like you’ve lost it five years in a row to me?”

_OOHHHs _from the Gryffindor’s. Flint’s jaw visibly twitches.

“You’ve only become captain last year, Wood. Don’t get too cocky.”

Wood only shrugs coolly. “Whatever. It doesn’t change the fact that Gryffindor is going to win it again. So can you calm down on the alpha hormone. It smells like wet dog here – bad.”

Pucey and Higgs stiffen at that, ready to jump in at any moment if Marcus swings, but Marcus only bursts out laughing.

“Yeah, okay Wood.” He laughs again. “You wished you smelled like me, fucking beta.”

He turns away from Wood and the strange tension that’d been hanging in the air breaks. It feels like Harry can breathe again.

“Morgana’s tits,” Flint jumps when he sees them. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Higgs fingers twitch nervously. “We thought…well…you know how you get around Wood.”

Flint’s eyes darken. “How?”

Even Harry understands that isn’t the smartest question. Higgs seems to wither underneath Flint’s stare.

“You _know_.” Higgs replies desperately.

“No I don’t know,” Flint spits, “because I don’t get any type of way around Wood. Now get the fuck out of here. Practice is over.”

Pucey is incredulous. “But-! I thought –“

“I said,” Flint says, dangerously calm, “Practice. Is. _Over_.”

The rest of the team needs no other reminders. Harry is about to make his way back to the dorms when Flint stops him.

“Not you, Aries. We still have some things to talk about.”

-

Flint sits him down in the very back of the stands. They watch Gryffindor practice together.

“I really don’t have time-“

Flint shushes him. “See their seeker?” Flint points to a bundle of red mass in the air. Harry can just barely make a reedy boy out with the number 7 on his jersey.

“Yeah?”

The snitch whizzes right past the boy’s ear. If number seven notices it, he does a good job of not showing it.

“He’s a shit stain compared to you.”

“…Thanks?”

Marcus turns to face him, finally, and he looks serious.

“I’m telling you this because I really want to win this year, Black. It’s really important to me. Mainly, I want to beat Wood because he’s an obnoxious piece of shit for a beta. Have you ever felt that? The need to beat someone else really bad?”

Harry looks at his shoes. He thinks of Draco. “I guess.” He mutters.

Marcus is thoughtful for a moment. Then he speaks.

“You said you’re getting shit from Anton and them?”

Harry has to keep from digging his nails into the soft skin of his palm.

“Yeah,” he grits out.

“To be honest, I’ve always thought Anton was a fake. He says he’s from some German pureblood family right? Well, I’m pureblood – I’m sacred 28 pureblood, mate – and I got a bugger load of cousins who go to Durmstrang. But have they ever heard the name Muller?” Flint shakes his head. “Nope.”

Harry looks up at this. “You think Anton…is lying? That the rumors – they’re fake?”

Flint is leaning back, his black eyes locked on Wood who’s guarding the goals. He doesn’t even look at Harry when he responds.

“I think Anton is lying about his heritage. About going to Durmstrang. I mean, it isn’t even _believable_. If you’re going to lie, can't you at least make it believable? If you get kicked out of Durmstrang, which is known for the dark arts, do you really think you’re going to be able to get into any other magical academy? No way. It’s such bollocks.” Flint shrugs again, eyes still locked on Wood. “But who’s going call him a liar? Not me. The rest may be a lie, but he’s still one scary fucking bloke.”

“Then what should I do?” Harry pushes desperately. “If everyone’s afraid of him – what am I supposed to do?”

“Anton might be untouchable but what about his little lackey’s? You can't dig up stuff on them? Jae-ho especially. He’s a prefect. You’re telling me you can't think of a single thing that could get Jae-ho in trouble? Because if you get Jae-ho in trouble, you got the rest of them in a bag. Three birds – one stone.”

Harry goes silent for a minute, thinking. Then he smiles.

Flint smiles with him. He says

“See? Did you think of something?”

Harry is thinking of that night in the Forbidden forest. He’s thinking about Anton bragging about Fluffy, and the shadow that crossed over Jae-ho’s face when he tried to tell Harry what he was guarding.

Harry laughs.

“Yeah,” he says back. “Yeah, I thought of something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone know how to share a word doc, or have an account with word that I could share my work with you? I want a beta but I don't want to transfer all my work to google docs. Seems like a pain in the ass. PLEASE LMK. I have a good amount of words right now that need SERIOUS editing.


	16. The Mudblood Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weekly updates for now

_It’s not your secret to give away though, is it?_

That’s what Jae-ho said in the forest. Jae-ho, who never said anything, who was always silent, who seemed like just another lackey – one word from Jae-ho and Anton shut up.

Harry already knows why Jae-ho was in that corridor in the first place. He’s obviously been tasked with making sure no other students go there. A guard in addition to Fluffy. But what if Harry found out what Fluffy was hiding? What if he found out and lied and told Dumbledore it was because Jae-ho told him? What if he told the rest of Hogwarts what it was?

Jae-ho would be in a big trouble then. And depending on what Fluffy is guarding, he could probably even be expelled. The best part? Anton and Shivani would get in trouble as well since they patrol the corridor with him.

_Is that even allowed?_ Harry wonders. _They’re not prefects. Would they be expelled as well, for patrolling a corridor they weren’t supposed to be patrolling in the first place?_

Harry grins at that. Wouldn’t that be great? If they all got expelled?

But he’s thinking too far ahead. He doesn’t even know what Fluffy’s actually guarding. Until he does, his plan isn’t a plan at all but another fantasy.

Harry sighs. It’s time for the hard work.

He goes to find Ron.

-

Draco shouldn’t be worried about Harry.

But he is.

The thing in the forest was one thing. The bullying is another.

Draco doesn’t even think bullying is harsh enough a word. _Terrorizing_ is more appropriate. Draco doesn’t even understand how Harry is still _in_ school. Anton and his friends always seem to take his homework and Harry is always late to class because some kid or another is harassing him.

It’s not like Draco actually _likes _Harry. But the stunts the other students pull on him – let’s just say Draco wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. Which is coincidentally Harry.

The bullying is at the forefront of Draco’s mind when Aamir casually mentions something that blows every other thought in Draco’s head to pieces.

“That was weird,” he says, during history of magic. “In the forest.”

Draco, who is usually close to falling asleep during this time, instantly sits up.

_No way_, he thinks nervously_. No way he found out._

“What about the forest?”

Aamir is tapping his pencil against the table, gaze steadfast on the board.

“It looked like there was a bloody tornado raging in there. You should’ve seen the trees – bending backwards and forwards as if they were made out of bubblegum.”

Aamir turns his russet eyes on Draco.

“I would’ve thought you noticed.”

Draco feels dread pool in his stomach at the tone Aamir takes. He _says “I would’ve thought you noticed”_ as if saying “_I know you noticed.”_ Draco knows, when Aamir uses that tone, there is nothing Draco can say that Aamir will believe.

Still, Draco replies.

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “Weird, huh?”

Aamir stares at Draco for a while, as if waiting for the real answer, and when Draco doesn’t add anything more he turns back to the board. He adds, a few seconds later –

“I thought it was a storm, at first. But I knew later, when I was laying in bed, thinking about it – it wasn’t a storm at all. It was an obscurus.”

-

For a while the word doesn’t register. Draco plays with the word in his mind.

_Obscurus. Obscurus? Obscurus-_

Then, when class ends, and he’s walking in the hall –

** _OBSCURUS_ **

He remembers, suddenly, reading a book from father’s secret library – MALICIOUS MALADIES & DEMENTED DISORDERS – and the definition which stated

_An Obscurus is the manifestation of the repressed energy of a young wizard or witch (known as an obscurial). Described as a "dark" and "parasitic" force, an Obscurus is created when the child in question consciously attempts to repress their magical abilities or were forced to do so through physical or psychological abuse. This energy can manifest itself as a separate entity that can erupt in violent, destructive fury._

Draco thinks, suddenly, that it all makes sense. What happened in the closet and what happened in the forest – the dark cloud of ink that forced itself out of Harry’s body – it was an _obscurus_.

Violent and destructive fury? As if that wasn’t Harry in a nutshell.

And what about his appearance when they first met? Harry looked like he been thrown in a broom closet and starved for the first eight years of his life. That was a sure sign of physical abuse if Draco ever saw one. But who had abused him? His squib guardians?

Unlikely, considering it seemed they worshipped the ground he walked upon. And Draco knew for a fact Sirius Black wasn’t Harry’s ACTUAL father so no trauma from there either.

Then who was it then, that stunted Harry’s growth so bad that even when he was a child he looked little more than a house elf? Who would even dare treat THE Harry Potter in such a way?

Draco finds, somewhat shockingly, that he has no idea. And he has no idea because no matter how long their lives have seemed to be intertwined, Draco Malfoy has no idea who Harry Potter actually _is_. He might’ve been the only boy in the world to know Harry’s secret, but besides that, he knew nothing. Not about who raised him, not about how he cultivated that ruthless fearlessness, and not about the things he had gone through.

Draco Malfoy does not know Harry Potter.

But he does know what’s wrong with him.

-

Harry finds Ron in the library.

“Finally,” Harry mutters when he sees him hiding behind a book. “The hell are you doing here? You don’t _read._”

“I’m hiding from Anton and them.” Ron whispers back. “They jumped me after lunch. Took my bag and I ran away before they could do anything else. Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” Ron hisses at him. “What happened to safety in numbers?”

“Flint dragged me to quidditch practice. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Right,” Ron mutters bitterly. “Because being the youngest seeker in over a century is SUCH a drag. Cry me a river.”

“Listen, Ron,” Harry snaps. “I really don’t have time for your dramatics right now. I think I have a way to stop Anton and them from bullying us. To get them in some _real _trouble.”

Ron brightens at that. “Seriously? You have a plan?”

Harry grins, infected with Ron’s sudden good mood. “Yes sir. Wait a minute let me get a pen-“

Harry reaches into his book bag and curses when a note falls out.

Ron stares at it, eyes going wide as saucers. “What the bloody hell is that?”

_That _is a newspaper with Harry’s photo in it, his eyes scratched out, and the words

_YOU DON’T BELONG HERE_

-written in big red letters.

“Oh you know,” Harry says bitterly, good mood suddenly vanished. “Just little love notes from Anton and them. They like to give me at least one a day.”

“Barmy, mate, they don’t give me any.”

“I guess they just hate me more.”

Harry is still staring stonily at the note when someone whispers his name.

“Aries!”

Ron groans. “Don’t look now. It’s Malfoy.”

Harry stiffens. As if he wouldn’t know that voice anywhere.

Draco slides into the empty seat next to Harry. Harry pointedly ignores him.

“Hey.” Draco says softly.

“Piss off, Malfoy.” Ron snaps. “No one invited you to sit here.”

Draco turns his head sharply to face Ron.

“Was I talking to you, Weasel? Did I say ‘hello, weasel-be?’ Did I even acknowledge your poor plebian self? No. So do us all a favor and shut up.”

Ron turns as red as his hair.

“Hey,” he says, looking at Harry. “Are you really going to let him talk to me that way?”

Draco turns back to face Harry. His grey eyes seem desperate.

“Aries, I need to talk to you. In private.”

Harry studiously ignores him.

Draco places his hand over his and Harry almost jumps ten feet into the air.

“Aries,” he says again, his voice as soft as butter. “Please?”

Harry can’t really focus on anything when Draco’s hand is on his. Every thought in his head goes blank. It’s even worse when Draco’s looking at him like that, giving him the biggest puppy eyes, an adorable pout on his face.

Of course he breaks.

“Um.” Harry stares. “Okay.”

Ron curses. “Harry! You have to be stronger than that!”

Draco doesn’t waste a second. He waves a hand at Ron.

“You heard him. Shoo.”

Ron gives Draco a death glare before standing up and leaving.

Harry, suddenly getting his brain cells back, pulls his hand from Draco’s. He remembers he’s mad at Draco. He picks at his nails and avoids Draco’s gaze, pretending to be cool.

“So. What do you want? And make it quick I have to talk to Ron.”

Something hot flashes in Draco’s cool grey eyes.

“Oh? So you call him Ron now? Not Weasel? Aren’t you two _chummy_?”

Harry blinks, confused at the heat behind Draco’s words.

“I mean, yeah. I guess.”

Draco’s lips thin like this isn’t the answer he wants to hear. He continues anyway.

“Whatever. That’s not the point. What I wanted to tell you – what I need to tell you – is that I know. I know what’s wrong with you.”

Harry rears back. “What’s _wrong_ with me?”

Draco obviously can't read his body language because he barges on obliviously.

“Yeah. And it didn’t hit me until Aamir told me and then it was soooo obvious-“

“Oh? So _Aamir_ told you what was wrong with me?” Harry says coldly.

“Yeah and-“

And Draco rambles on about something called an Obscurus, and how dark and violent they are, and how they are borne out physical and emotional abuse.

“So that’s what I am, huh? Something dark and violent. A danger to others. A danger to you.”

And finally, Draco must read his face, must see the storm and black clouds that hang over him, that speak of displeasure, because he backtracks.

“That’s not – that’s not what you _are_. That’s what’s _wrong_ with you-“

“Because there _must_ be something wrong with _me_ right? Because I’m the one who was built all wrong and crooked. Because it just can't be possible that wrong was done to _me_.”

“Aries!” Draco cries out, frustrated. “That’s not what I’m saying at all! Being an obscurial is dangerous not just for others, but for you! Most obscurials don’t make it past seven years old. You have no control over this! The next time you get upset or angry your soul might be ripped out. You didn’t see what I saw in the woods. I’m telling you this, so you can learn to _control_ it-

“There is NOTHING wrong with me!” Harry bursts out, standing up so fast his chair is knocked back.

“I SAVED your worthless life and you have the NERVE to say something’s wrong with me? That I’m messed up? That I’m sick? Get a life, Draco! And stop obsessing over mine.”

-

Draco makes it to the hall before he starts crying.

It’s not even the worst thing Harry has ever said to him. But it hurts all the same because it’s Harry who said it, and for some reason, Harry looms big and powerful in Draco’s mind.

_Father’s right_, Draco thinks bitterly_. I _am _a baby. And a coward. One stinging retort from Harry and I’m reduced to tears. Gross._

It’s dinner time and Draco really doesn’t want to have to sit at the Slytherin table and act like everything’s fine so he heads into an abandoned girl’s lavatory.

If he went to the Slytherin table things would just wind up worse. Aamir would fuss over him and ask why he was crying and then he would try to pick a fight with Harry. Which would lead to more teasing from the rest of them- Draco being saved by his knight in shining armor for the millionth time.

So, Draco heads into a stall instead, locks the door, and cries his heart out.

“Stupid, Potter!” Draco yells through his tears. “I was just trying to help you! Idiot Potter! Scarhead!”

Draco mashes his fists into his crying eyes, trying to stop the tears.

“And he has the nerve, THE NERVE, to call me obsessed? _Me_? Obsessed with him? As _if_. Gross! How dare he – how dare he even think that! Let alone tell me to my face-!”

There’s a slamming sound as the door to the girl’s lavatory bursts open.

Draco pauses in his ramblings.

Tiny footsteps rush into a stall two doors down from him and Draco hears the tell-tell sound of a latch closing and the deep breath before a huge and aching sob.

“I hate him!” A girl’s voice gasps out. “I hate him I hate him I HATE him! Stupid Ron Weasley! Stupid Weasel! The nerve of him insulting me when he looks like _that_?”

And then the ramblings turn incoherent as the girl sobs much more voraciously and loudly, actually putting shame to Draco’s crying, and his curses as well.

_Morgana’s tits_, Draco thinks, incredulous. _To think this girl is crying in the same restroom as me, over the sidekick of the boy who made ME cry._

But Draco’s surprise at such a coincidence is quickly overshadowed by his annoyance at the girls sobbing, which at first was wonderfully theatrical, but is now bordering on bleed-your-ears-out-insane.

“Oi!” Draco snaps, and the sobbing abruptly cuts off. “Can you stop that please? There are other people in here.”

A sniffle and then

“Are you a boy? You are aware this is a girl’s lavatory, right? You shouldn’t even be _in_ here.” A snotty voice tells him.

Draco balks at the audacity of this girl. To talk to a Malfoy in such a manner?

“You are aware this is an abandoned girl’s lavatory, correct?” Draco snipes back. “I can be here if I want.”

“Then so can I.” The mystery girl replies precociously, earning Draco’s ire.

He slams the stall door open and knocks hard on hers.

“Excuse me. I was here first so if you don’t mind-“

Draco almost gets hit by the door as it swings open. A girl with a bush for hair glares up at him.

“Last I checked, you don’t _own _this lavatory.” She says snidely.

Buck teeth peek up at him when she speaks. Draco’s lip curls in disgust.

_Where does she get the confidence to speak to me in such a manner? Does she not see the obvious difference in our pedigree? In my superior appearance?_

“Well, I didn’t want to have to say this, but my father _is_ on the board of governors, so technically-“

“Oh so your _father _is on the board of governors? Are you?”

Draco flushes. “Well, no-“ He splutters and the other girl pounces.

“Then _you_ don’t own anything. Your father is the one with power. Not you.”

“What’s your name?” Draco cuts in sharply, deeply irritated.

The girls blinks up at him, momentarily confused.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“When my father hears about this-!”

But Draco doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because just then a troll bursts in.

-

Harry goes to supper upset. He sits next to Ron.

“What did Malfoy have to say?” Ron asks.

Harry scoffs. “Nothing important, like always.”

Time passes and Harry is in a heated discussion with Ron and Theo about how boring History of Magic is when Aamir suddenly speaks up from a couple of seats down, a frown on his face.

“Has anybody seen Draco?”

Harry barely keeps from rolling his eyes.

“Who cares?” He drawls lazily, earning a stony look from Aamir and snickers from Ron and Theo.

“Whatever.” Aamir mutters. “He’s probably in his rooms.” And then he stands up with his tray and leaves the table.

Harry scoffs at the sight.

_Seriously. And people say Draco clings to Aamir? It’s like Aamir has to be next to Draco every second of every day._

There’s a loud hub-a-bub and then Headmaster Dumbledore is speaking up, his long white beard trailing almost into his food.

“A troll has broken into Hogwarts.”

-

Pandemonium breaks out. Students are rushed out in an orderly fashion. Harry is about to stand up himself when a hand grabs on to his wrist.

_Zabini._

“What in Merlin’s beard? Let go of me, Zabini.”

“I heard Draco crying in the girl’s restroom.”

Harry blinks, confused, and then a sense of dread hits him.

“What?”

“He doesn’t know about the troll. He was crying in the abandoned girl’s lavatory. I don’t know what about but – he’s still there.”

“But why-“

Could it be? Did Harry make him cry? Guilt tugs hard in his stomach, his intestines curling. And there is fear there as well, clawing at his insides.

“Shit.” Harry curses. “I have to go get him.” And then realizing something, Harry blinks owlishly at Blaise.

“I thought you didn’t like Draco?”

Zabini stares at him like he’s an idiot. “That doesn’t mean I want him dead.”

“Uh – right.” Harry replies stupidly. He turns to leave only to find Ron in front of him, twisting his hands uselessly.

“I, uh, accidentally made Hermione cry. I heard she’s in the bathroom as well. Can I come with you?”

“Don’t be stupid, Weasel.” Harry replies. “You were coming with me either way.”

-

For all her sass, when the troll bursts into the lavatory, buckteeth screams her head off and hides behind Draco.

The screaming does not endear the troll.

He swats his club forward with a roar, as if they were annoying gnats buzzing around his head, pulverizing several stalls in the process.

Draco is frozen for a more seconds than should be allowed, until he finally remembers he is a wizard and he has a wand.

But what use is a wand when you don’t know any spells?

_If Aamir was here_, Draco thinks helplessly, _he would know what spell to use._

But at Hogwarts, the usefulness of the spells they teach peak at wingardium leviosa and go nowhere near subduing a full fledged mountain troll. But that’s what happens when you go to a school that _refuses_ to teach the dark arts.

So every time the troll tries to move closer, Draco is forced to use stinging hexes, which do little in actual harm to the troll, but give them time for the adults to arrive.

“Don’t you know any other spells?!” Buckteeth cries uselessly behind him.

“Don’t _you_ know ANY spells at _all?!”_ Draco sneers back, sweat falling onto his brow.

When Draco raises his wand to send another stinging hex the troll’s way, the brute sends a piece of ceramic sink flying their way, forcing the both of them to duck, and causing Draco to lose his wand in the process.

“My wand!” Draco cries out uselessly.

Draco and buckteeth clutch each other tightly, huddled in the farthest corner of the restroom, and Draco knows now they’re at the end of the line.

“We’re done for.” Buckteeth sobs, and Draco silently agrees.

“I don’t even know your name.” Draco says in reply, pulling his head back from the curtain of her curls.

Brown eyes blink tearfully back at him. “Hermione.”

So dreadfully common it suits her. But that doesn’t matter at this point.

Draco smiles sadly back at her. “Draco. And for the record – Ron is as much as a wanker as you said he was.”

Hermione stares at him, touched. “Thank you. He really is.”

But just then two figures burst in, one with glaring red hair, and the other with pitch black hair, eyes an electric blue, and Draco knows he’s about to eat his words.

-

It’s Weasel who finally knocks out the beast, ironically, with a wingardium leviosa of all things.

The mountain troll’s club floats up and then knocks him upside the head, and Draco pushes Hermione out of the way when his body collapses to the ground.

Draco doesn’t know why he does it. Besides their near death experience together, he does not like the girl. But the reaction is automatic. Maybe it’s because she’s a girl. Or maybe its because of the way she held him tight as the mountain troll drew closer, her embrace as warm as a mother’s.

Whatever the reason, he shoves her out of the way, leaving the fist of the mountain troll to come down hard on his leg. The snap is audible in the echoes of the marble flooring and ceramic sinks. Draco screams, and Harry is on him not even half a second later, eyes crinkled in distress.

“Draco, Draco –“ Harry fusses over him, “are you okay?”

“Does it LOOK like I’m okay you simpleton?!” Draco cries out, tears muddling his vision, his ankle still stuck under the troll’s fist and the pain unbearable.

“Maybe I could-“

Harry makes a motion as if going to lift the troll’s fist, and Draco screams bloody murder.

“Don’t you DARE, Black-!” Are his last words before passing out.

-

When Draco wakes up he’s in the infirmary.

A sleek black head is bent over on his bedside, sound asleep.

_Harry?_

Draco flicks his head with a finger.

“Oi! Wake up!”

Harry raises his head, blue eyes blinking blearily with fatigue. They go wide awake when they catch sight of Draco sitting up in bed.

“Draco!” Harry yells, grabbing his hand fervently. “You’re awake.”

Draco tries to tug his hand out of his grip, to no avail. “Yes. As so happens, when one is finished sleeping.”

Harry barges on, obviously choosing to ignore his wisecrack.

“I was scared…” He confesses, “you looked so pale…”

“I broke my leg, Black.” Draco snaps, irritated. “I wasn’t cut in half.”

Harry stares down at his lap, still holding on to Draco’s hand.

“Zabini told me you were crying in the girl’s restroom. And I…well…I know you were there because of me so…”

Draco feels an ugly flush crawl it’s way up his neck.

_He knew ABOUT THAT????_

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since I yelled at you, I figured you were crying about that.” Harry looks up all of a sudden, a sharp glint in his eye, all hard resolve. “And I’m not going say sorry because you deserved it – but – if something bad had really happened to you…well…I would’ve felt-“

“Excuse me.” Draco repeats again, this time more sharply. “When did I ever say I was crying? And when did I ever say I was crying over _you?”_

Harry blinks, pausing in his ramblings.

“Zabini-“

“Zabini heard that Hermione girl crying.”

Harry stares at him hard, considering.

“Then why were you in the bathroom, huh? Explain that.”

“I just didn’t want to see your ugly face, Black! Especially after the way you attacked me. But crying over you? Over something you said?” Draco laughs. “As _if._ How big is your ego? You think I spend any second of any day thinking about things you say?”

_(I spend every second of every day thinking about the things you say)_

Draco scoffs. “Get a life, Black.” He sneers, throwing Harry’s words back at him.

A muscle twitches in Harry’s jaw. He bursts into laughter.

“Wow.” He says when he’s done. “Just- wow. Once again, I’ve saved your life - and for what?”

Draco splutters. “Saved my life? I broke my leg-“

Harry stands up to leave, then angrily turns to face him again.

“You know, I’m not always going to be there to save you, _Malfoy_.”

And just when Draco thinks he couldn’t get any angrier, he does.

“Who said I wanted you to save me, Black! Who ASKED you to save me? I have Aamir for that!”

Harry’s eye twitches in a way that is entirely unhealthy. For a second, his eyes turn green.

“You-“ he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but still snaps out – “you drive me INSANE sometimes!”

And then he’s out the door before Draco can put in another word.

-

The biggest surprise visit is Hermione.

She comes almost directly after Harry. Draco sees her big bushy hair before he actually sees her.

Her face crumples when she see’s him lying there, and she cries rather dramatically.

“Oh Draco!” She cries, almost falling at his feet. She’d give Pansy a run for her money at how dramatic she was being. “You look so horrible!”

“Well,” Draco says, prickling a bit, “I don’t look that bad-“

“Oh yes you do! No need to brave. You look like death itself! With your ghastly skin, and your dark under eyes – Oh Draco! And to think you did all of it for me! To save _me_!”

Draco balks at her, mouth open. What is with people today making their own assumptions? And Draco did NOT look like death itself!

“I did NOT-“

“Thank you,” she says, more quietly, holding his hand in hers. Her eyes are wet. And even her ghastly teeth don’t stop Draco from softening a bit. “I know – I know a lot of people don’t like me. I don’t have many friends in Gryffindor, you see. People think I’m a know it all. So I’m glad that you, well you know – cared enough. To help me. Even if maybe, you don’t like me either.”

And what is Draco supposed to do with that? Sneer at her?

Draco just raises his nose in the air.

“Honestly. You give yourself too much credit. As if I have any time in my life to waste it hating you. And by the way,” he can’t help but add, “those people who call you a know it all? They’re just jealous they aren’t as smart as you.”

_I should know. I’m one of them._

Hermione brightens at his words and Draco has to blink a couple times because she actually looks pretty.

_Merlin’s beard. I almost lost my brain there for a second there._

Hermione throws herself at him, hair and all, wrapping him in a great big hug. Draco almost chokes from the force of it, surprised.

“Oh thank you, Draco. You’re so kind. I don’t care what the other students say about you. You’re a great friend.”

And Draco almost dies and comes back to life right then because _FRIEND?_

_Did this mudblood just call me her FRIEND?_

_Morgana’s TITS!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally i managed to bring granger into the game !!!


	17. Rival Like Mine

“Aamir, that horrible buck-toothed girl called me her friend! Her friend! As if I would ever be friends with a _mudblood_.”

“Draco,” Aamir says with quiet authority. “You shouldn’t say that word.”

Draco pouts, not liking it when Aamir reprimands him.

“Why not? It’s not like you’re not thinking it either.”

“Yes,” Aamir concedes, “but its one thing to think it and another to say it. We both know, truly, that she is a worthless little thing but it’s not polite to say so. And saying so won’t help you at all in this climate.”

“Climate?” Draco’s eyebrows crinkle, confused. “But the weather is perfectly fine?”

Aamir rolls his eyes, and Draco barely keeps from snapping at him.

“Political climate, Draco.”

“You always act like you know it all,” Draco sneers, annoyed. “Okay, know it all, here’s a question for you: why didn’t you visit me in the hospital? So much for _best friend_.”

Aamir reaches for Draco’s hand but Draco pulls away, still upset.

“Draco.” Aamir pulls a hurt face. “I would’ve visited you, but Dumbledore was very hush hush on the matter. I assume he didn’t want it leaking to the other board members that a student had been injured. I had no idea you were even hurt.”

“How very _convenient_.”

“Draco, come on. If not me, do you really think Pansy would’ve stayed in her dorm all week if she’d heard?”

Draco thinks about Pansy, and all the ways she clings to him like a persistent gnat.

“True,” Draco replies grudgingly, letting Aamir off the hook. “So what should I do about the mud-_muggleborn?_”

Aamir doesn’t even blink. “Be friends with her. She _is_ the top student. As long as you’re getting something out of it, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Even if I can't stand her?”

“Even then. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like her. You can still be friends. You can still use her. I bet she’s a great tutor. Who knows, maybe with her help you can take back the title of top student.”

Sometimes Aamir says things without even blinking that make Draco pause.

“But not me right?” Draco asks.

Aamir cocks his head at him, questioning.

Draco reaches for Aamir’s hand, interlocks their fingers, trying to grab a hold of something.

“You’re not using me right? You _like _me right? Like a friend. Like a _real_ friend.”

And Aamir laughs, squeezing Draco’s hand right back.

“Of course. Of course we’re real friends. Don’t be silly.”

But sometimes Draco wonders.

-

Harry is talking with Ron when Draco comes down for supper.

“Yeah, it’s a great plan and all except for the fact that there ISN’T an actual plan.”

Ron looks disappointed when Harry recounts what he talked about with Flint.

“But it’s something,” Harry stresses. “Jae-ho is like a robot. He never shows his emotions. But when Anton dangled fluffy over our heads he got all upset. There’s something there I’m telling you.”

Ron blinks at him dumbly.

“What’s a robot?”

Harry barely keeps from groaning.

“That’s not the point. The point is Jae-ho is hiding something big, and we know where he’s hiding it. If we find out what it is, Jae-ho and them are going to be in big trouble. Jae-ho is one thing, but Anton and Shivani? They’re not prefects. Are they even allowed to be guarding the halls with him. And it’s obvious Anton knows what it is. This is the way to get them off our backs for good. We just have to get past Fluffy.”

Ron stares at him in horror. “You say that as if it’s easy. As if isn’t a three-headed dog guarding whatever it is, liable to tear us into pieces.”

“Maybe it likes to play fetch?” Harry tries weakly.

“Maybe it likes 11 year old boys in Hogwarts uniforms as treats.”

“You’re not helping.” Harry says tersely. “I’m trying to be positive here.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve just said fuck all. This doesn’t help us in anyway.”

Harry curses, slams his fist on the table. He cradles his head in his hands. He just wants to be able to breathe, and not feel like there’s an unmovable weight on his chest.

“I’m sorry. For getting upset. I’m just so sick of it. And I know you’re going through it too but its not the same. They hate me more. They target me more. Morgana’s tits – the whole school hates me. And at least you have family here. At least you have people who _care_ about you.”

“Hey. Hey.” Ron places a hand on his back, face alarmed. “I care about you, mate. I care. So what if the whole school hates you? It’s only because of your dad. If they really knew you, if they knew how brave you were, or how smart, or how powerful, mate - the whole school would be at your feet.”

Harry laughs brokenly.

“It just – it all feels so hopeless.”

“Its not. I was just – I was upset too. Your plan isn’t that bad. It’s better than nothing, that’s for sure. If it weren’t for you, mate, I’d be drowning under all of this. But you’ve kept me afloat. You’ve helped me survive. Morgana’s tits, you saved me from _drowning_. You’re one of the strongest people I know. If anyone can get through this, if anyone can figure it out – it’s you.”

Harry breathes, fixes himself, pulls his body up like pulling on a string. He gives Ron a wry smile.

“Thanks. I- I needed that.”

“You don’t need to thank me. What else are friends for?”

And then a voice Harry would recognize in the deepest pits of hell-

-

“Aw, isn’t that sweet?” Draco says, when he sees Harry and Ron all chummy together, heads bent towards each other.

Inwardly, he’s burning inside.

_So you’re on good terms with the Weasel, but when I try to break bread, when I try to make peace, you just spit it back in my face? When I try to help you, when I try to comfort you, it’s demeaning? It’s insulting?_

_Seriously?_

Harry only scowls, moves away from Ron.

“Bugger off, Malfoy.”

“Too bad.” Draco snipes back. “You’re always bugging me about Aamir when you obviously have a boyfriend of your own.” Draco makes a face of mock sympathy. “Does he wipe your tears when you go to bed? A little kiss on the cheek maybe? Since you don’t have any other friends?”

“Piss off, Malfoy.” The Weasel _dares _snap back at him, as if they’re on the same level, his face as red as his hair.

“I’m here for supper, Weasel, so no in fact, I _won’t_ piss off. Or what, are you jealous your boyfriend might stray?”

Aamir rolls his eyes beside him.

“Draco,” he says quietly so no one else can hear. “Come on.”

Draco stares back at him, wide eyes filled with betrayal.

“Seriously? They say it to us all the time!”

Theo, through a mouth full of pot roast, for some reason deigns to insert himself into the conversation, as if he’s relevant.

“Well, that’s different, Malfoy,” he says casually, chunks of pot roast flying everywhere. Zabini makes a face. “Ron and Harry are like, brotherly chums. They discuss real, _manly_ issues. You and Aamir on the other hand – it’s like your always throwing a tantrum and Aamir has to calm you down.”

“Tantrum? I do NOT -!” Draco pauses, realizes he’s falling right into Theo’s trap. Clears his throat and starts calmly again. “I do not throw tantrums.” He says primly.

Theo scoffs, goes back to digging into his pot roast, the brute.

“Whatever.”

It’s once they sit down, digging in as well, Draco and Harry glaring daggers at each other, that another topic comes up.

“So the big Slytherin-Gryffindor game is coming up,” Theo says, eyes alight in excitement, sending mean glances towards the Gryffindor table. “Are you ready, Aries?”

All eyes turn to Harry, and Harry jumps, breaking out his glaring contest with Draco.

“Uh – yeah. I mean I guess.”

“You guess?” Theo says in disbelief. “That better be a hard yes, mate. How’s it gonna look if you embarrass us out there? You’re the youngest seeker in a whole century. You better do us proud. I can't stand those smug Gryffindors, especially the ones in our year. First there’s that know it all Granger-“

Draco shifts uncomfortably.

“-and then there’s that cry baby Longbottom. And don’t even get me started on Dean Thomas. The other day I was just having a laugh at this dumb Hufflepuff boy, and Dean got all huffy about it, threatened to punch me in the face. Can you believe it?” Theo says, with eyes saying he can't believe it. “Filthy mudblood, didn’t even think to use magic to stop me.”

Murmurs of agreement in the table. Only Zabini looks down at the words, picking his roast dreadfully. Ron colors. Harry looks confused.

“Anyway, what kind of broom you got, Aries?” Another boy asks.

Harry is obviously still stuck on the past conversation, but answers anyway. “A uh, a nimbue? A nimbus? A nimbus 2000?”

An atomic silence permeates the table, eyes struck dumb like they’ve seen the brightest flash.

Draco drops his fork and it clatters onto the floor.

“A nimbus 2000?” Draco asks, his eye twitching. “A nimbus _2000?_ You don’t – you didn’t – you didn’t even know how _to fly_ before you got here! It’s been three months! THREE MONTHS! And somehow your our star seeker AND you have a nimbus 2000?! You won’t even know how to fly it! You don’t deserve it! I-!

_I deserve it. Me. I’ve played longer than you._

That’s what Draco almost says. But he doesn’t.

“Who gave it to you?” He demands.

Harry squints, as if trying to remember.

“It sounded like a spider…Arthur…Aranea…Arctur…Arcturus!” Harry snaps his fingers, remembering. “Arcturus Black. My great grandfather.”

Draco’s eyes twitches again. “_Our_ great grandfather.”

Harry looks at him queerly. “That’s right, isn’t it?” He shrugs. “Seemed he was impressed I made the broom sweeping club. He wrote a really long letter talking about how proud he was and how I was the one bright star in the Black family tree. Something like that anyway. I skimmed most of it because it was so long and I can't really read cursive good.”

Draco feels his heart sinking.

_But great grandfather has never given me anything, ever. He doesn’t even write. I don’t think I’ve ever even met him in _person_. But here comes Harry, who isn’t even a Black, and by some spur of good luck manages to get on the team, and now all of sudden Arcturus Black cares about his grandchildren?_

_It’s not FAIR._

Draco feels his lip start to wobble and that sends a big red flashing DANGER sign to his head.

_Oh. You’re about to have a fit right now, aren’t you? Just like Theo said. Because you’re a big baby and all you’re good for is throwing fits, and crying, and being stupidly utterly useless._

“Oh. Wow. Isn’t that lovely, Aries? Good for you.” Draco says numbly, not even focusing on the words, not even realizing how odd they are coming from him.

Harry squints at him, gives him a suspicious gaze, but it doesn’t matter because-

Because Aamir is grabbing his hand under the table, knowing without anything being said that something’s wrong, threading his fingers through Draco’s, tight, locked, throwing away the key.

He doesn’t even look at Draco when he says

“Me and Draco are going back to the dorms. There’s a little too much stink here you see,” and, looking at Harry- “You really ought to shower after quidditch practice, Aries.”

Snickers throughout the table. Harry, his gaze moving from Draco’s to Aamir’s as quick as a whip, coloring something ugly, making to stand up but Ron’s pushing him back down.

And when they get back to the dorm, Draco is the ocean and Aamir is the rock, and Draco rages against him and Aamir is not afraid to hold him, steady, strong, and unmovable.

-

Marcus Flint gives a speech in the locker room.

Marcus isn’t ugly, per se. He’d be perfectly average if he wasn’t so rough looking, his jaw like the sharp cut of a rock, wide and sturdy. He has a gap between his teeth, and another’s chipped, but honestly it only adds to his intimidating demeanor. Besides that, he has the build of a rugby player, if not taller, everything about him as wide as a semi.

“Listen you little shits,” he spits at them, the start of his motivational speech, everything about him dark and imposing. “I know a lot of you lazy little fuckers are going to take this game for granted. Probably thinking ‘_oh, this is the first game of the season, it doesn’t really matter if I fuck up here then, oh well_.’” Flint bangs his meaty fist on a locker and everyone jumps.

“But NO! It does matter. This game matters. _All _the games matter. Do you want to win this cup? Do you want to beat Gryffindor after six years of a drought? Then it all starts here. What you do, how serious you take it, how far you push yourself – it matters. It matters here, today, now. Go out on that pitch, and do everything in your power to win. I don’t care what you gotta do. I don’t care how dirty you gotta get. Rules? Rules are for goody two shoe beta-bitch boys who like blowing bubbles up my bollocks like Oliver Wood. _Are you all beta-bitch boys?!”_

“NO!”

“Are you all gonna do your dirtiest to win this game?”

“YES!”

“Are we gonna beat those beta-bitch Gryffindor’s into the mud so hard they won’t be able to tell their knees from the absolute SHIT?!”

“YES!”

“HELL YES!”

“HELL YES HELL YES HELL YES!”

The Slytherins are screaming, chanting, blood in their veins all live wire, electric, and even Harry can feel the hum of it fast and sharp in his own veins. Marcus has a way with words. Harry, for all that he doesn’t care about this broom sweeping sport, finds that strangely enough he wants to win. Wants to do his best, his dirtiest, just like Flint said. Wants to unleash all the anger and the hurt and everything ugly inside him that’s been brewing with no outlet since he came here out into the world like a curse.

And maybe, maybe too he just wants to try. Even Flint said so, didn’t he? That being a seeker for Slytherin was a chance for him. A chance for him to rise out of the hatred, for people to start to like him, for people to see past his surname and start to cheer for him.

_Wouldn’t that be…nice for a change?_

They all start to stream out of the locker room, yelling and chanting, slapping the ceiling in some kind of ritual as they go, Harry about to follow when Flint pulls him aside.

Flint’s eyes, usually a dark brown, look black in the low light. There’s a frenetic sort of energy to him as he speaks.

“This is an important game, Black.” He says, eyes hyper focused on his. “This is Gryffindor. This is…this is Wood. I talked a big game to him the other day. If you dare embarrass me…”

Flint must notice this adds more to Harry’s nerves, because he quickly backtracks.

“Never mind. Forget that.” He waves a meaty hand in the air, like sweeping away the negative thoughts. “Forget about that. You’re my dark horse, Aries. You’re my secret weapon.” He holds Harry’s face in his hands like it’s something precious. “I will never forget the day you saved Malfoy. I thought you were a goner. I thought you would die. Stars tend to collapse on themselves, you know? Big bang, dust, swallowed into nothingness. But you were more than a star that day. You were a God. You were untouchable. The laws of the universe did not apply to you. And today they won’t apply to you either. You _will _win this.”

“I’m nervous,” Harry confesses because he would never dare say scared, his throat dry, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “I’ve never – everyone thinks I’m going to fail.”

He’d gotten another love note from Anton and them in his book bag. This time it was a dead rat, bleeding all over his books, a note tied around his neck that said

_Play and you’re dead, death eater scum._

“Forget about them.” Flint says sharply. “They’re unimportant. They’re jealous. You – you have a Wood, right? A rival, like mine?”

Harry nods.

“Think about the face they’ll make when you catch the snitch. When you win us the game. Picture it right now.”

And Draco’s face appears in Harry’s mind, his pale hair, his silver bovine eyes, his pink lips, eternally in a pout. He thinks about the face Draco made when he saved him, the pretty flush on his cheeks, the awe in his eyes, the amazement, like Harry was something divine-

_Will he make the same face when he sees me win?_

“Did you see their face?”

Harry nods, and his heart beats steadier now, his nerves settled, his thoughts no longer in the pits of possible failure, of possible retribution, but somewhere else, somewhere far way.

“Good. That’s all you gotta do, Black. Picture that face. And the winning will come all by itself.”


	18. Game Set Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL! harry wasnt being smug or whatever when he got the letter from his grandfather 😭 he just literally doesnt give a fuck. he wasnt raised on quidditch so he doesnt know what a big deal it is to be on the team as a first year. why do u think he calls it the broom sweeping club??? also, obvi this old mans means nothing to harry, so why should he give a fuck if he writes him a letter?
> 
> ALSO- shoutout to MAYU33, my beta!!! she is so amazing yall and shes the reason you got such a good chapter :)

The Gryffindor seeker’s name is Sid Finkle.

Up close, he’s even skinnier than initial appearance would suggest. Apparently, a second year and a last ditch replacement for a previous Weasley who was _actually_ good. Harry can tell from the way his eyes are jittering nervously across the pitch, that he’s even more anxious than himself.

No sooner has Madam Hooch blown the whistle and Marcus Flint is off with the quaffle, passing it back and forth with Pucey. They are less dodging Gryffindors and more ramming into them with their shoulders to get them out of the way, more brawn than actual skill, but what a sight to see: Flint the semi, pushing lesser things out of his way.

Flint is speeding towards the goal post, winding back his arm, letting the quaffle fly but Wood is there in an instant, and kicks it back with the end of his broom.

Flint curses, his face a dark storm, thick eyebrows wrinkling into a scowl.

Wood only gives a cheeky smile back.

It’s fascinating to watch but Harry doesn’t let himself get distracted. Flint had been very clear with him. _Watch for gold. Always. Don’t bother getting mixed in our mess. You’re our thinnest, sharpest blade, but that means you’re also the easiest to break. You’re precious cargo and I don’t want you getting hurt. Fly high above us and catch us that snitch. That’s all you gotta do._

And that’s what Harry plans to do. But they’re not even ten minutes into the game when a Gryffindor beater sends a bludger his way, Harry barely spinning out of the way.

Harry is rattled.

_Flint said they wouldn’t target me. That they’re too soft. That they wouldn’t dare. And anyway, it doesn’t make sense. I’m just a seeker._

“OUCH! Look at that, people! Augustus Meyers has just sent a mean bludger Black’s way! Honestly, what a save from Aries Black! Maybe Flint’s seeker is a dark horse after all!”

Harry can hear Flint screaming from all the way up in the air.

“I’LL KILL YOU, MEYERS! I’LL KILL YOU! BLOODY YELLOW BELLIED COWARD! HE’S ONLY 11 YEARS OLD!”

Flint screams, while hitting another chaser with the back of his elbow.

The chaser in question stares back at him with the lightest brown eyes Harry has ever seen, something disappointed in its depths.

Augustus Meyers shakes his auburn head at him.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He says. “You shouldn’t have played.”

And then with a kick of his broom he’s gone.

-

Draco wants to miss the game out of sheer spite .

But then he realizes Harry won’t care either way, if he’s there or not. And then there’s the fact that this is _Gryffindor_ they’re playing and in his deepest heart of hearts he’s actually hoping Harry will catch the snitch, just so Slytherin can have one over Gryffindor.

And it’s the first quidditch school game of his life! Of _course_ he has to be there.

_I hate Harry, but I hate Gryffindor more. So he better be the dark horse Flint constantly brags about._

Draco promises himself that he’s going to keep cool. That he can at least do that. At least pretend like he isn’t interested.

Draco and Pansy walk together to the Slytherin stands. Pansy’s arm is locked with his, Aamir trailing behind them, no doubt rolling his eyes.

Draco walks with an exaggerated limp, wincing every time he takes a step, and Pansy coos all over him just as he likes. It’s the kind of exaggerating Draco will only do around Pansy because Aamir is not one to indulge him in such a way, and neither are the rest of the Slytherins.

They pass Hermione Granger on the way and it’s impossible to miss her because she waves at Draco like a maniac, and this time Draco’s wince isn’t exaggerated.

Pansy curls her lip and pulls Draco even closer to her.

“Who in Merlin’s beard is that?”

Aamir coughs behind him, giving him an expectant look. Draco waves weakly back at Granger, if only to get her to stop waving at him. Pansy’s eyes almost pop out of her head at the gesture.

“Excuse me. I know I can’t be your best friend because Aamir is almost psychotically possessive”

Cue Aamir, rolling his eyes for the millionth time.

“-but I thought that I at least held the title of best GIRL friend. What in the mountain troll’s spawn is that?”

For some reason, the comment annoys Draco when any other time Pansy sharp and cutting words would’ve made him laugh.

“Oh shut up, Pansy.” He snaps, and luckily for him the shock of it is enough for her to shut her trap.

When they finally get to the Slytherin stands Draco is shocked to see Pansy pull out a poster, of all things, with ARIES BLACK written in all green letters, hearts doodled all over the place.

Pansy can’t quite meet his eyes.

“Oh do stop looking at me like that, Draco. I don’t _actually_ like him. But I really want Slytherin to win.”

And then, a little down the aisle, Draco sees Nott pull out a poster as well, with DARK HORSE written on it.

Draco stares at him.

“What?” Theo snaps back, completely unashamed. “Black is probably scared witless. He’s going to need all the support he can get. And I for one, don’t care about petty little squabbles more than I care about Slytherin winning.”

Weasel has a sign as well, which surprises Draco the least, BLACK UNBEATABLE written in large block letters.

Draco turns to Aamir, the only one he can count on to find this as ridiculous as he does.

“Can you believe this?” He asks, in the tone of someone who can't believe it.

Aamir looks derisively at the signs. “They all look stupid, honestly.”

“Right?!”

Madam Hooch blows the whistle and Draco sits with his nose high in the air, back straight, like he couldn’t care less what was happening on the pitch, and his snobby little act lasts for a spectacular ten minutes. 

Augustus Meyers throws a bludger at Harry and Draco almost pitches himself over the stand at the injustice of it.

“DIRTY CHEAT!” He screams at the top of his lungs, heart in his throat as Harry barely misses it. “HE WASN’T EVEN DOING ANYTHING THERE BUT SITTING! THAT’S TARGETING!”

“THAT’S A FOUL!” Ron screams beside him. “FOUL, FOUL, FOUL!”

They make eye contact for an awkward second.Then Draco slowly backs away, back into his seat as calmly as he can. He tries to smooth down his hair.

Aamir gives him a look.

“What?” Draco replies defensively, unable to make eye contact. “I just get…heated sometimes. It doesn’t have anything to do with Aries.”

“Right.” Aamir says bluntly, completely unconvinced. “I think I’m just going to go back to my dorm, then. Since obviously nobody thinks the way I think.”

Draco tries weakly to make him stay but Aamir leaves anyway. Without Aamir’s judging eyes it’s embarrassingly easy to completely lose himself into cheering like a fool for Harry. At some point, he even steals Pansy’s handmade sign with the hearts all over it, waving it like a maniac.

It’s only until the second quarter that the real action begins.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan says, “Chaser Pucey ducks two bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the – wait a moment – was that the snitch?”

And yes, there it is, gold and fluttery in the sunlight, faster than a hummingbird’s wings, whizzing past Adrian Pucey’s left ear.

The crowd roars. Harry, eyes sharper than a hawk’s, immediately catches sight of it and dives. Neck and neck with Sid Finkle, who for all his nervous twitching and shaking is skinnier than a pole, even skinnier than Harry.

Everyone in Slytherin is on their feet, cheering, screaming. Draco can even feel the stands shaking with their cheers, feels like the roar of the ocean crashing into him.

Just one glance to his left and he sees Nott jumping up and down like a maniac, his hands fisted in his hair, sounds like he’s howling, like he’s trying to rip his vocal cords apart, eyes shining brighter than the flash in an atomic blast, now beating on his chest like an ape. Pansy as well, vibrating like the tightest string on a chord ready to snap, ready to shatter glass with the force of her screams.

And Draco’s not much better.

They’re all watching, captivated. Even some of the chasers on both teams just stop and stare, quaffle forgotten. Flint the craziest of them, screaming for Harry.

“Get him, Black! GET HIM!”

And then the nimbus 2000 bucks.

At first, looking at it, Draco thinks it’s a fluke. But then it happens again. And again. And_ again and again and again,_ and now Draco _knows_ it’s no fluke, Harry struggling to hold on, fists white with the effort, thighs squeezing tight on the broom, and yeah Draco think it’s bad, Draco thinks it’s too terrible to be true, and then the Nimbus 2000 starts to _spin._

Draco feels his heart beat out of his chest when Harry goes upside down. The broom is spinning and spinning and spinning, and Harry’s legs must not be holding on tight enough.How could _anyone’s_ legs be holding tight enough? Because they give out and now Harry is only hanging onto his broom by a single hand.

Draco is screaming, his head filled with white noise.

“SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!”

And there’s Flint. Breaking out of pause, on play again, zooming past all the frozen players just staring at the disaster unfolding right in front of them, reaching a hand out to Harry.

“GRAB ON! GRAB ON ARIES!”

Draco can see, even from his place on the stands, Harry’s face shining with sweat and exertion. Reaching his other hand up to Flint’s as he pulls him back onto his broom.

Whatever the mysterious bucking was on the nimbus, is gone once Harry gets back on. Harry wasting no time zooms past Flint, racing for the snitch again like nothing’s even happened.

Draco feels breathless.

_How can he do that? How can he just get back on, so bloody fearless, so unafraid of anything?_

Once again Harry and Finkle are shoulder to shoulder, diving straight and fast for the snitch. Finkle casting little glances, every once in a while, to see if Harry’s going to chicken out. But Harry’s attention is dead on the snitch.

“Finkle and Black are neck and neck! They’re speeding past the bannisters, down, down, down, straight down, still diving, dangerously close to the pitch and – Finkle’s backed out! Finkle’s gone up and out! Flint’s dark horse better get out of that dive if he knows what’s good for him!”

At the very last second. At the _very_ last second. Harry ups his broom horizontal to the pitch, toes scratching the grass, and everyone in Slytherin breathes out a relieved exhale.

The snitch is slightly above and ahead of Harry. Not wanting to spook it and instead of kicking his broom forward, he does the unthinkable –

He starts to stand on it.

“UNBELIEVABLE!” Lee Jordan screams into the microphone. “BLOODY UNBELIEVABLE! Does Black think this is SURFING?!!”

Harry, standing on his broom, hands out on the sides to keep balance, reaches forward and-

Falls.

Gryffindor goes wild. Draco’s heart sinks all the way down to his shoes.

“Good try, Black, but no dice! Seems Slytherin has lost it again – wait up – it looks like Black is going to throw up! It seems his spectacular failure has just been too much for him-“

But it’s not vomit. Harry gags and out pops the snitch. Straight into his hands.

And Slytherin goes wild.

-

It’s nice. For a second.

Harry raises the snitch in his hands, everything about him smug and arrogant, flashing the crowd with a toothy smile. Eyes searching for Draco in the stands and when he finds him, he smirks.

Draco looks shocked. He colors all the way to his roots, and almost topples out the Slytherin box.

Then Harry remembers the dead rat, and the warning. The way his broom was bucking to kill and all he feels is bone deep anger.

Anger enough to rival the heat of the stars.

All of Slytherin reaches for him. The whole team tackles him, tugging him this way and that, cheering for him.

Students are running into the field now, Slytherin mostly, a lot of girls running this way and that towards Flint, adulation in their eyes. But Flint knocks them away mindlessly, zeroing in on a defeated Oliver Wood .

Pucey wrinkles his nose.

“Oh God. The alpha testosterone is _stronggg_ today.”

“Did you see that, Ollie?” Flint says, pressing into Woods space, eyes brighter than anything. “Did you see what my boy did there? Didn’t I tell you we would win? Didn’t I?”

And Wood is coloring noticeably, trying to push Flint away with skinny wrists.

“Piss off, Flint.” He mutters. “You stink.”

Flint only laughs, gap in his teeth showing, pressing closer instead, his forehead against Wood’s.

“You wish you smelled like me,” he purrs. “You _wish_.”

Pucey and the rest of them look visibly disgusted.

“Morgana’s tits. The smell just got _worse_. Can’t Wood go away already? Flint only gets like this because he’s here.”

And the distraction is enough for Harry to squeeze out of the dogpile, anger still in him like a plague, already knowing what and who he’s looking for. He’s at his limit now, knowing he doesn’t care if what he does next has consequences.

Ron reaches him first, breathless, like he ran as fast as he could.

“It was Anton and them, wasn’t it? They did that to your broom.”

“Yeah.” Harry replies back, gritting his teeth. “It was them. They warned me before the game. But that was too far. They’re gonna pay this time.”

_Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times…_

_I’m not gonna get fooled again._

“Where are they sitting?” Harry asks, and Ron must agree with his line of thinking because he says,

“Follow me.”

They’re in the Slytherin box before Harry even blinks. Random people patting him on the shoulder, grinning at him, congratulating him, as if they never once before refused to associate with him.

_Whatever_. That’s not what he’s here for anyway.

Harry sees them first. Three figures in the stands, their robes a royal green, packed tighter than sardines in a can. Shivani, Jae-ho, and Anton the sun between them.

Shivani is twitchy like always. His eyes seem to dart all over the place. Anton flicks him on the forehead, tells him something, laughing, and Shivani relaxes. He smiles at Anton. Jae-ho, forgotten beside them, stares openly at Anton, something incredibly soft in his gaze.

If Harry wasn’t so angry he would question it. As it is, the softness, which is strange on infinitely cold Jae-ho, is barely registered.

Anton finally catches sight of Harry. He smiles, huge and bright, a smile larger than planet earth - he _dares_ to smile.

“Aries!” he says cheerfully. Like they’re friends. Like he didn’t just try to kill him. Like he didn’t plant a dead rat in his book bag. “For as much as I hate you, I really must say; what a great-!”

Harry swings his broom like a baseball bat and hits Anton right on the side of the head.

His broom breaks in half at the force of it.

He doesn’t waste any time in pressing his advantage and hops over the bleachers, grabbing a fistful of Anton’s robes, and punching him in the face.

Pandemonium breaks out. The few students around them scatter with screams. Shivani looks at Harry with wide, Jupiter blown eyes. Jae-ho stares at him, more emotion in his face than Harry’s ever seen on him, black eyes narrowed in fury, and shoves him back almost automatically.

“What the _fuck_ is your problem?” He shouts.

But Harry ignores him. He only has eyes for Anton.

“You fucking son of a whore,” Harry spits in his face, hands shaking, eyes brighter than an atomic blast. “Seriously? After everything? You tried to kill me a third time? You tried to stop me from playing even though me catching the snitch would be a win for Slytherin? Do you really hate me that much? Are you really that _stupid_?”

The stunned and stupid goes out of Anton’s eyes. They go sharper than a blade. He snarls and bucks forward, bringing a fist up.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asks, dazed but eyes glinting mean. Blood coming out of the gash on the right side of his head. Bruise forming where Harry punched him. “You mad little _bugger_. When have I ever tried to kill you? Hurt you, yeah, but _kill_ ?”

At his side, Shivani twitches and goes pale. Jae-ho looks away.

“And why the fuck are you going on about the game? You think I’m the one who messed up your broom? I wanted you to win, Black. I _wanted_ you to win!”

Harry only stares, wide eyed, pressed up against the bannister.

“You, but you- the note. What about the notes you wrote to me, telling me you wanted me gone, that you were going to kill me – you put a dead rat in my book bag!”

Anton wrinkles his nose. “Morgana’s tits, you think I did that? That’s disgusting, Black. You think I would kill a rat just for you? Wake _up._” Anton sneers. “I’m not the only person in this school who hates you, Aries.”

Harry can’t believe it.

“You’re a liar.” He sneers, spits on Anton’s face. “You’re a yellow-bellied, beta bitch boy, _liar-_“

Anton’s eyes dilate, and Harry can see specks of gold in the irises. He wipes the spit from his face.

“I’m going to KILL you privileged little _shit_, Voldemort Heir, Azkaban blood cousin –!“

Anton rushes forward and the only thing that stops him is Jae-ho holding him back along with Shivani.

“Let me go!” Anton screams, something wild in his eyes, wilder than a shark when it smells blood. “I’m going to beat his face to a bloody pulp! I’m going to poke my fingers in his eyes, pull them out and spoon feed them to my dogs-!”

Shivani looks like he’s barely hanging on, face sweaty with nerves. Jae-ho is the only one who remains cool, holds tight to Anton, tighter than an anchor during a storm.

“Calm down, Anton. There’s too many witnesses,” Jae-ho hisses under his breath.

“I don’t give two shits-!”

Jae-ho whispers something else into Anton’s ear, something Harry can't hear. All of sudden Anton goes limp, flashes Harry with a devious smile, before moaning in pain.

“What is going on here?” Says a voice like a whip, and Harry knows without even looking that it’s-

“Professor Snape,” Jae-ho says, sighing exaggeratedly in relief. “Thank Merlin you’re here. First year Black got upset and suddenly attacked Muller with his broom.”

Anton moans again.

“Oh God, it hurts. Make it stop. Make it _stop_.”

Ron is up in arms in a fury.

“Professor, Anton deserved it! He made Harry’s broom malfunction. He was trying to kill him! He’s been trying to kill him, kill us, _all _semester. He even left a dead rat in Harry’s book bag!”

Snape does not look at all impressed by Ron’s accusations of murder.

“Oh? And is there any proof of this?”

Harry’s heart falls. He threw away the rat.

Snape _hmphs_ at the dead silence.

“As I thought. Only silly allegations made by jealous first years. The only real proof we have here is that Anton was attacked, unprovoked. Please prefect Park, don’t dilly dally, take Muller to the nurses office _immediately_.”

Jae-ho nods gravely. “Yes sir,” he says, and as he passes Ron and Harry, flashes them a dark look, mutters under his breath,

“You’re _dead_.”

Ron almost explodes. “Professor!”

“SILENCE, Mr. Weasley!” Snape yells, eye twitching. He turns to Harry, “As for you, Mr. Black, you will be serving detention indefinitely with me for the rest of the year.”

“WHAT!”

“Be grateful that I’m not reporting this incident to anyone else, as you would most definitely be expelled. Breaking a broom over a student?” Snape gives him a look of pure disgust. “You really are just like your father. Unequivocally and mindlessly violent. You’re lucky that Anton is a seventh year and that he most likely wasn’t seriously injured.”

Snape turns with a swoosh of his robes. Harry’s heart almost explodes from the injustice of it all.

-

“I don’t understand it,” Ron says to him as they walk the empty halls. “If not Anton, then who?”

Harry almost tears his hair out at the question.

“I don’t know.”

He could’ve sworn on his life that it was Anton sending the notes. Anton who jinxed his broom, but the shock on his face had been too real to fake. Anyway, Anton was always upfront about what he did to him. He always took credit for the pranks he pulled. If it had really been him who’d jinxed the broom he wouldn’t have shied away from saying it.

But then…

_What was that he said? That he was never trying to kill me? But he did. I almost drowned in the Great Lake. And then I almost got torn apart by wolves in the Forbidden Forest. So obviously, he’s a liar. _

Right?

Harry didn’t understand it either.

“Listen Ron, I think I’m going to head over the infirmary. I don’t think I feel too good.”

Ron’s forehead creases in worry.

“You want me to go with you?”

“No. I think…I think I need to be alone.”

Ron nods his head. “I get it. Take care, okay? I’ll be back in the dorms.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says vaguely, mind somewhere else. “I’ll see you there.”

Ron leaves and Harry walks almost mindlessly to the infirmary, turning a corner, when he sees a boy leaning up against a wall.

It’s the chaser who hit him. Meyers.

A bad feeling creeps it’s way into Harry’s stomach.

“What are you…?”

Another boy steps out from a corner, tall, broad, and almost as wide as Marcus Flint.

He smiles crookedly, black hair glinting in the light.

“Wotcha, Aries. Did you like my gift?”

It takes a second for it to click.

“It was you?” Harry says, taking a step back in shock. His back hitting the chest of a third boy.

The black haired boy only grins in response. Meyer shakes his head sadly.

“I told you, Black,” he says, eyes boring into his.

_“You shouldn’t have played.”_


End file.
